


In Love and War

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Hikaru no Go
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bullying, Coming Out, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Epilepsy, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Internalized Homophobia, Love Confessions, M/M, Men Crying, Mutual Masturbation, Seizures, Sexual Fantasy, Slow Burn, Switching, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-07-23 14:58:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 30
Words: 60,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7468032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Kaga doesn’t even notice Tsutsui, the first time." Kaga and Tsutsui's friendship is a strange thing when it starts and it only gains oddities the longer Kaga tries to keep it inside the lines of platonic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Winning

Kaga first meets Tsutsui in elementary school.

They’re not the type to get along. Kaga knows this, knew it from the first day of class when he looked around the room to size up the children he’ll be spending the next year with. His type are easy to pick out of the crowd; they sit up taller, stare longer, sometimes even slouch back into inattention while the teacher is still speaking to the class as a whole. Those are meant to be Kaga’s friends, or his competition at least; because everything is a competition, it’s easy to frame the world into two sides of a game, and Kaga is good at competition. He’s one of those who rise to the top in any tournament, one of the few left vying for the title in the last rounds of battle, and he’s learned how to dig his teeth in and hold to victory with both hands until he can wrest it away from his opponent.

Kaga doesn’t even notice Tsutsui, the first time. Tsutsui is the type to get chewed up by competition, one of those who will crumble and fold at the first sign of resistance; when Kaga looks over the classroom he passes over Tsutsui the same as he does nearly everyone else, forgets the other’s face as quickly as his eyes have skipped on to the student sitting next to him. Tsutsui never speaks up in class, and he hunches in over his desk, ducking his head to grant himself the curtain of his hair in addition to the natural barrier his outsized glasses provide to his eyes, and Kaga forgets him before the teacher’s reached his name in the roll call. He doesn’t turn around to look at him again, doesn’t pay attention to what voice is attached to that self-defensive hunch of shoulders; Tsutsui never even makes eye contact with him, never sees the brief dismissal Kaga gives him as someone bearing the joint failings of being uninteresting and uninspired.

It’s weeks later that they speak again. Kaga has talked to the more exciting students in his class: made friends with one, gotten into a fistfight with another, and developed a relationship so layered with insults it’s hard to tell if it’s friendship or dislike with the third. But they’re not always around at lunchtime, and Kaga isn’t one to sit around and wait for time to pass when he’s left to his own devices. There’s no one interesting to talk to, no one exciting enough to offer the other half of a conversation; so he considers the other students lingering over lunch in the classroom, and he picks out a victim instead.

There’s no particular reason it has to be Tsutsui. There are other students in the classroom, other children showing that ducked-head quiet that comes with insecurities dug in deep enough to collapse any resistance that might have once been there. But the rest of the class is clustering into groups for the lunch hour, and Tsutsui’s glasses catch the light when he lifts his head for a moment, and so it’s Tsutsui that Kaga focuses on, and it’s Tsutsui that he aims for as he pushes back from his desk and strides across the classroom.

“Yo,” he says as he approaches, loudly enough that the other boy jumps and startles as he turns back to blink shock at Kaga. “How’s it going?”

“Oh,” Tsutsui says, sounding as blank as his stare looks. “Hello.”

“You’re Tsutsui, right?” Kaga pulls out the chair of the desk in front of Tsutsui’s, drags it back over the floor without lifting it clear of the ground; the metal of the legs catches and drags over the floor, making Tsutsui flinch at the screech. Kaga lets the edge of the chair rattle into the edge of the other’s desk as he swings a leg up over the seat to sit backwards in the chair and lean against it. “I’m Kaga.”

“I know,” Tsutsui says, still looking as off-balance as if it’s his self that Kaga has just jarred against the edge of his chair. “Hello.”

“Yeah,” Kaga says, and lets his gaze drop to the lunch Tsutsui has laid out over the surface of his desk. “Whatcha got?”

Tsutsui blinks at him. “Lunch?”

“Looks good,” Kaga tells him, and reaches out over the open box towards one of the slices of omelette in the far corner. Tsutsui watches his hand without reacting, still looking a little dazed; Kaga almost touches the other’s food before he stops himself with deliberately put-on hesitation.

“Oh, sorry,” he says without pulling his hand back or looking away from Tsutsui’s face. “Mind if I try some?”

He’s making fun of the other boy. It’s clear on his tongue, he can taste the mockery like the sour bite of lemon burning against the inside of his mouth, and he knows how this will go; Tsutsui will duck his head, will mumble something unintelligible, and Kaga will eat the vast majority of his lunch while bombarding him with conversation overwhelming enough to keep him cowed and quiet. The other students won’t stop him, the teacher won’t care; even if he gets called out, Kaga’s more likely to get praise from his father for ‘taking charge’ than punishment for bullying. That’s the way it’s worked with every other student in the class Kaga has decided to pick on; it only takes one interaction, only takes one deliberate shove of aggression, and they submit, the victory so easily-won it’s no victory at all. Tsutsui doesn’t have the backbone for more, Kaga can see that already in the curve of his shoulders and the shine off those glasses; the fact that he’s spending lunch alone is just further proof that he’s unlikely to cause Kaga any problems, either intentionally or accidentally.

“Sure,” Tsutsui says, just as Kaga expected. Kaga lets his fingers drop the last half-inch to draw a bite of food free, lifts it to his mouth with deliberate slowness as if he’s savouring the motion; he’s waiting for Tsutsui to look up at him, waiting to see the resignation to loss in the other’s eyes. It takes a while -- Kaga nearly has the food to his lips when it finally happens -- and he’s just biting into the omelette when Tsutsui lifts his chin, and says “Do you not have a lunch today?” with so much sincere concern that Kaga swallows wrong and nearly chokes himself on the bite of food.

“Sorry!” Tsutsui blurts, his eyes going wide with concern behind the solid weight of his glasses as Kaga gasps and coughs over the edge of the desk. There’s a touch at Kaga’s shoulder, the weight of an uncertain touch brushing against the sleeve of his uniform coat, as if Tsutsui is nervous about doing some kind of harm with the feather-light contact. “I’m sorry, that was rude, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“ _What_?” Kaga asks, his voice coming out rougher than he means it to around the lingering weight of his coughing fit. “What are you talking about?”

Tsutsui blinks, drops his gaze down to the surface of his desk. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice so soft Kaga can barely hear it. “It’s none of my business, I--”

“Shut up,” Kaga tells him, more to cut off the flow of the other’s words than with any real aggression. “What do you mean?”

“Ah,” Tsutsui says, and Kaga thinks for a moment he might be about to apologize again; but then he glances up, and sees the way Kaga is glaring at him, and if he flinches back in his chair at least he swallows like he’s steeling himself for speech. “It’s lunchtime.”

“No shit,” Kaga tells him.

Tsutsui flinches again, as if Kaga’s words are blows instead of the harmless hum of sound they are. “You don’t have anything to eat,” he says, glancing up over the top of his glasses as warily as if he thinks Kaga might be about to smack him. “I was just wondering if you usually bring a lunch. Or do you buy something? I have some money I could lend you if you want.”

Kaga stares at Tsutsui. “You’d just _give_ me money.”

“Of course, if you’re hungry.” Tsutsui reaches out to push at the edge of his lunchbox and ease it farther over the desk. “Or you can have some more of mine. It’s always hard to pay attention in the afternoon when you don’t have lunch, don’t you think?”

Kaga thinks, for just a moment, that Tsutsui is teasing him. It seems an impossibility, that this boy with _victim_ clear in every line of his being would have the presence of mind to mock him with so little warning; but it’s easier to fathom than the hypothetical of someone so absolutely blind and stupid as to mean this reaction sincerely. Kaga’s still staring when Tsutsui lifts his head, and meets his gaze, and offers a tremulous smile so weighted down at the edges with hope that it looks like it could give way at any moment.

A lot of things make sense to Kaga right then. The slump of Tsutsui’s shoulders, for one thing, the tentative touch at his shoulder while he was coughing; the immediacy of his concern, for another, and the sincerity on his voice as he made a desperate attempt at conversation. It’s not that the other boy is an idiot; it’s that he’s _lonely_ , so painfully absent any regular interaction that he’s ready to give up even common sense for the relief of conversation for the lunch hour. Kaga can’t remember ever seeing Tsutsui so much as speak to anyone else in class, now that he thinks about it; not that he would have noticed the other even if he had, but that’s a trivial detail when compared to the sudden surge of sympathy that hits him far harder than he ever expected it would.

“Yeah,” he says, and folds his arms over the back of the chair rather than reaching out for another bite of food. “And English is no good anyway. Unless you’re one of those nerdy kids that _likes_ that kind of thing?”

It’s a boring conversation, Kaga thinks, as Tsutsui smiles himself into relief and offers some equally inane response. It’s unlikely to be worth the time he’ll spend inventing conversation topics, much less not-listening to Tsutsui’s responses. But Tsutsui’s smile gains strength as the time passes, and his eyes go brighter even behind the barrier of his glasses, and by the time the rest of the class comes back in and Kaga gets up to return to his seat he can feel warmth all through his chest, like heat has crept into his veins and is settling to glow comfortably in him for the rest of the day.

It might not be enough to win his father’s praise, but Kaga thinks he likes the feeling of making someone smile instead of scowl.


	2. Playing

“ _God_ ,” Kaga groans from the other side of the table. “You’re _terrible_ at this.”

Tsutsui hesitates with his fingertips hovering over the Go stone he’s just placed. “Is that a bad move?”

“I can’t believe you have to ask me that,” Kaga tells him. “I’m never going to get any better playing against you if you keep making moves like that.”

Tsutsui frowns himself into apology and reaches to push his glasses up his nose from where they’ve slid down. “Should I change it, or…”

“Shut up,” Kaga tells him, snapping off the words that always make Tsutsui flinch no matter how many times he hears them, and reaches out to smack the other’s hand away from the board. His sleeve catches the pieces laid across the edge of the goban and knock them loose to scatter on the floor, but he doesn’t even turn his head at the rattle of sound; he’s reaching for a handful of stones instead, setting them down around the edges of Tsutsui’s latest move with a rapidfire placement Tsutsui can’t even follow.

“I’ll have this whole section of the board captured in four moves,” Kaga tells him, rattling the stones into place against the somewhat dented wood of the board. “You’re walking right into it by leaving that piece there.”

“I have moves too,” Tsutsui attempts. “I could stop--”

“You couldn’t,” Kaga cuts him off. “I wouldn’t be able to stop that in your place, not after that last move. Why couldn’t you see it there?” He drags his fingers across the surface of the board, scooping away the handful of stones he’s just placed. “What you should’ve done is moved over here” as he presses a fingertip to Tsutsui’s piece and slides it sideways across the Go board to the far edge, where there are no stones at all yet, either of Tsutsui’s white or Kaga’s black. “ _This_ is a good move.”

Tsutsui frowns focus at the outline of the game. “Why would I move there? None of your pieces are there.”

“That’s exactly why,” Kaga tells him, huffing the words around the frustration that so often turns his voice rough and too-loud in the enclosed space. “You can’t win this other corner. Any other pieces you throw at it are a waste of moves and just make us play out an obvious conclusion.” He reaches over the board, still careless with the drag of his sleeve and the havoc this wrecks on what’s left of the game they were playing so he can hover his hand over the left side of the game and the area now empty but for the bright white of the stone he moved over for Tsutsui. “But this is all up for grabs. You could probably still take this from me, if you went for it now.”

Tsutsui considers the blank array of spaces around the one Kaga chose to move his piece to. They all look identical to him; even now that Kaga has done it for him he can’t see why he chose the move he did, why he didn’t leave the stone one spot farther to the left or two up. He ducks his head to let the weight of his hair fall heavy over his face as he sighs, “I don’t think I’m very good at this,” resignation lacing his tone as much as apology.

“You’re not,” Kaga tells him, without even a token attempt at polite hesitation. Tsutsui lifts his head to look at the other boy but Kaga is watching the board, is sweeping the details of their first game aside and laying stones into a new pattern with that same unhesitating speed Tsutsui sees whenever Kaga’s left to play at his own rhythm. It always makes Tsutsui’s heart race, like he has to hurry up to keep from throwing off Kaga’s personal pattern, and even when he moves at his fastest he doesn’t have a chance of matching the other’s speed. Watching Kaga move on his own is a little like watching a dance Tsutsui doesn’t know, where every step is logical and choreographed to some set rule that he never learned and can’t hope to replicate but can still appreciate the flow of when he’s not trying to participate himself.

“You don’t have a natural talent at this,” Kaga is going on, offering the words with something nearly indifference as the stones on the board start to fall into a pattern Tsutsui could almost make sense of, if he had the time to look at it longer. “Whatever. That doesn’t mean you can’t get better than you are now.” He rattles a stone into place and then draws his hand away, leaving the pattern across the board clear to see even if Tsutsui isn’t sure yet what the intention is.

“You could at least become fun to play against,” Kaga tells him, dropping the stones still in his hand back into the container on his side and reaching over the table for Tsutsui’s to grab an extra white one. “Try this instead.”

Tsutsui blinks at the board. “What is this?”

“It’s the end game,” Kaga tells him. “If we had been playing for a while we’d end up here.” He’s holding a single white stone in his hand; when he tosses it up Tsutsui’s attention slides sideways to track the movement of the piece through the air before Kaga catches it again. “Where should you move next?”

Tsutsui blinks and looks back down at the Go board. “What?”

“From here,” Kaga says, sounding a little rough with irritation in the back of his throat. “What’s your next move if you want to win?”

Tsutsui stares at the board. The pattern is pretty, he can appreciate the tracery of almost-lines running through the array of stones; he and Kaga have never played this far in one of their games before the other boy loses patience and gives over his perpetual attempts to teach Tsutsui how to play Go. But there’s no reason to the design, no logic to the pattern; Tsutsui doesn’t know what Kaga means, doesn’t see how there can be just one move that is the right one. He could set the stone in one place as easily as another, could drop the white stone at the juncture of those lines near the edge, he wouldn’t know what Kaga would do until it was the other’s turn and he made his move.

Except. That cross of lines is sitting too close to the outline of black, Tsutsui can see; he’s sure putting the piece down there would make Kaga roll his eyes and groan frustration and move alongside Tsutsui’s piece, chasing the white of the other’s plays down to the edge of the board where he would take them all, in the end. So Tsutsui can’t move there, not if he wants to win; and there’s a whole handful of moves like that, options he can disregard immediately as soon as he looks at the lines of black snaking around them to threaten the empty spaces on the board left to him. That leaves him with a few other options, none in as much immediate danger as the others, but it’s harder to see through the next few moves when the threat isn’t as clear. Tsutsui frowns at them for a few minutes, trying to sketch out the pattern of play in his head; finally he narrows it down to two options, each about as good as the other that he can tell, and chooses one at random to point to.

“Here?”

Kaga stops tossing the white piece up into the air. Tsutsui doesn’t look up from the board for the first moment; when he does Kaga is watching him, his face expressionless and his eyes dark with focus. Tsutsui can feel anxiety shiver up his spine, is just opening his mouth to offer an apology for his bad sense for Go when Kaga extends his hand over the table, offering the piece in his open palm without looking away from Tsutsui’s face.

“Make the move,” is all he says, his voice oddly flat without any of the irritation or mockery Tsutsui is used to hearing.

Tsutsui lifts his hand to his glasses, pushes against the frames to urge them farther up the bridge of his nose, and then he reaches out to take the piece from Kaga’s open hand. The stone is warm to the touch, holding to the other’s body heat for a moment while Tsutsui places it, and even after he’s lifted his fingertips from the smooth weight Kaga doesn’t say anything, just reaches for his own pieces before setting a black stone into place alongside Tsutsui’s.

It only takes a few minutes to play through the rest of the game. Most of that time is Tsutsui’s, spent considering the board overlong before each move he makes, and when he takes the victory in the end Kaga doesn’t say anything, just sweeps the stones aside and starts setting the board up into a different configuration. It takes him a little while to get it established and leaves Tsutsui with nothing more structured to do than watch Kaga set up the end game of another match, but he doesn’t mind.

For a few minutes there, he felt almost like he was giving Kaga an actual game of Go.


	3. Awareness

“Kaga, _please_.”

“How many times do I have to tell you no?” Kaga says without looking up from the lunch he has spread out over his desk. “I’m done with Go, it’s all shogi for me now. Find someone else.”

“There isn’t anyone else,” Tsutsui protests. “You’re the best player at the school, you’re way better than I am.”

“That’s because you suck,” Kaga tells him. “If you stopped carrying that damn book around with you all the time you might actually improve, you know.”

“Please,” Tsutsui says again. “Even if I get better I can’t play in the tournament by myself.”

“You can’t play with just two people either.” Kaga takes a bite of his lunch, saving himself from further speech for a moment while he chews. “Even if I _do_ play with you we can’t join the tournament.”

“I’ll find someone else,” Tsutsui says. “There must be someone else at the school who can play Go.”

“Can’t you just find _two_ other people?” Kaga demands. “Or go find your other person and then come back and tell me and maybe I’ll play to help you get to three. Who knows?”

“I’ll never find two others,” Tsutsui says, sounding so self-deprecating Kaga wants to snap at him to stop being so melodramatic, would if he didn’t know it’s absolutely true. It’ll be a minor miracle if Tsutsui is able to pull even one other person into his plan to play in the middle school Go tournament; he’s never going to be able to track down two, not with the anxious introversion Kaga knows too well characterizes all the other boy’s actions. “You won’t have to play if I don’t find someone else. Please, Kaga, I need your help.”

“You always need my help,” Kaga groans. “All I’ve done since elementary school is help you, why can’t you take care of things yourself for once?” He’s being harsh, he knows, offering unjustified bite under the words he’s snapping at the other; but he knows he can get away with it, too, knows that Tsutsui lacks the backbone to push back even a little bit, and at least he’s nicer than he could be, most of the time, at least he gives Tsutsui someone to eat lunch with most days and saves him from the afterschool bullying that used to happen when they were still in elementary school.

“You’re my friend,” Tsutsui says, sounding nearly apologetic on the statement as Kaga looks up to see the dark of the other’s bowed head. Tsutsui is looking down at his hands in his lap, his mouth gone soft and weighted to a frown at the corners of his lips; Kaga can see unhappiness in the forward curve of the other’s shoulders, can see hesitation in the dip of his lashes. “I really want to play in the tournament with you.”

Kaga can feel all his skin prickle under the weight of his school uniform. He still has half his lunch in front of him, had been about to reach out for another bite of food; but the motion stalls, now, stopped dead against the tremor of Tsutsui’s voice over that statement. It’s a stupid thing to stop for -- it’s just a Go tournament, there’s nothing particularly remarkable to set Tsutsui’s words apart from what’s come before. But his voice wobbles over _you_ , the tremor of middle school granting it weight he maybe didn’t intend, and Kaga can feel the burden of that hit him like a physical force, like he’s being electrified and set alight by something he never even thought to look for before.

“Oh,” he says, more weakly than he intended and while Tsutsui’s head is still bowed over the fold of his fingers in his lap. Tsutsui doesn’t look up; Kaga is left to stare at the fall of the other’s hair against the frames of his glasses, to look at the forward hunch of the other’s shoulders and the way Tsutsui’s collar fits close against the back of his neck. He’s never noticed any of this before, or at least not with this detail; he knows that Tsutsui’s hair is too long, knows the other has a tendency to slouch that makes him look even more immediately submissive than he already is by nature. But it’s never felt electrified before, never carried the weight of a punch to knock all the air out of Kaga’s lungs until he’s not sure which emotion is stronger, if it’s the heat in his veins or the chill fright of recognition that is more overwhelming his senses.

“Fine,” he manages after a moment, offering the word with the rough edges on it that he’s never had to fight for, before, never had to strain to put on the tone of his voice. “Get a third person and I’ll play in the tournament with you.”

Tsutsui’s head comes up immediately, his eyes going wide behind his glasses as all the tension in his expression flickers away and into shock instead. His lips part on speechless surprise, his stare catches and clings to Kaga’s face, and Kaga can feel himself starting to flush, can feel heat rising across his cheeks as Tsutsui gapes at him.

“You still have to get another person,” he says, ducking his head to reach and snatch another bite of food to stuff into his mouth. When he talks around the bite it’s obstruction enough to hide any unusual heat or strain on his voice even if Tsutsui were paying attention to the detail. “I’m not helping with that part.”

“Yes,” Tsutsui says, blinking hard like he’s trying to reorient himself in reality. “Right. Yes, that’s fine, I’ll take care of it.” He reaches across the desk to grab at Kaga’s wrist; his fingers close tight around the sleeve of the other’s coat before Kaga can think to jerk away. “Thank you so much, Kaga!”

“It won’t make a difference,” Kaga tells him, dragging his hand free by force and scowling hard across the desk at the other boy. “You’ll never find a third player anyway and I’ll get to keep playing shogi.”

“I will,” Tsutsui says, still smiling like he’s not heard Kaga’s dismissal at all. “Thank you.”

“Shut up,” Kaga tells him, and looks down to frown hard at what still is left of the lunch spread out in front of him as he reaches to take another bite and cut off even the possibility of further conversation.

It doesn’t matter that he’s not looking at the other. Kaga’s pretty sure he won’t be able to unsee the flecks of color behind the grey of Tsutsui’s eyes any more than he’ll be able to ignore the self-awareness of unwanted affection flickering electric in his veins.


	4. Creased

“Your turn,” Kaga snaps from the other side of the Go board, his voice as rough as if he didn’t only just place his piece. “Faster, idiot, you’re never going to get better if you go so slow.”

“Give me a minute,” Tsutsui protests, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as if he really needs them adjusted. He can see well enough, and Kaga’s move isn’t that surprising; it’s just that he can’t see a way out of the trap the other is closing around him, and he’d like to stall the inevitable conclusion as long as he can. “I need to think.”

“You’re not thinking, you’re _reading_ ,” Kaga growls. He’s glaring at Tsutsui from across the board, his arms folded over his chest and his eyes so dark with his chin tipped down that all the softer color Tsutsui knows is there is entirely eclipsed by shadow. “Put the stupid book down and _play_.”

“I’m just checking my options,” Tsutsui attempts as he pages through the reference book he has next to him. “It’ll just take a minute.”

“ _Stop_ ,” Kaga insists, and then there’s fingers closing at the top of Tsutsui’s book, a hand obscuring the page for a moment before Kaga drags the book free of the other’s hands by force. Tsutsui is left with his hands empty and thoughts reeling while Kaga snaps the book shut on itself and tosses it aside so carelessly Tsutsui flinches for the damage the impact will do to the cover. “The next time you open that when you’re playing me I’m burning it.” Tsutsui’s eyes widen at this threat but Kaga doesn’t so much as bat an eye at the force of his statement; he’s still glaring across the table, looking as sincerely furious as if there’s a personal affront to him included in the pages of the practice manual he just dragged from Tsutsui’s hands. “I’m taking the time to play this dumb game with you because you can’t find anyone else to practice with and you won’t even _play_ me.”

“I am playing you,” Tsutsui attempts, lost in the illogic of Kaga’s irritation. “We’re playing right now.”

“Not when you’re using that damn book as a crutch.” Kaga’s jaw is set, his words hissing past gritted teeth. “If I wanted to play against a machine I could just pick your moves right from the pages without you even being here. I thought you wanted to practice for your stupid tournament.”

Tsutsui’s heart is pounding, his whole body tense on adrenaline with nowhere to go; Kaga’s gaze is fixed on him with an intensity that makes him feel every wrinkle of his uniform coat and every stray lock of hair catching at his glasses. The other’s eyes are narrowed, his mouth drawn down into the weight of a frown at his lips; Tsutsui can almost feel the heat of irritation radiating off the other’s skin as Kaga glares at him. There’s the weight of silence between them for a moment, bearing down on Tsutsui’s shoulders while he feels his cheeks flush into a burn of embarrassment under Kaga’s focused frustration, and finally he ducks his head to break eye contact and look down at his hands.

“I do,” he says, his voice very small, his shoulders tipping in to fit the size of his body to the scope of his words. “I’m getting better.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Kaga tells him, the words as harsh as his tone. “Stop being so scared of losing, it’s just a stupid game.”

“I’m not scared of losing.”

“You _are_ ,” Kaga insists. “You’re so scared of me winning that it takes twice as long to finish the game as it should, you can’t play like this in a tournament.”

“I’m not scared of losing,” Tsutsui says again, honesty giving his words force even against the irresistible inertia of Kaga’s certainty. “I don’t mind losing. I always lose against you.” His shoulders are tipping in farther, his chin nearly touching his chest; his heart is still pounding overfast against his ribcage, his hands are starting to tremble even pressed hard against each other in his lap, but Kaga’s silence demands an explanation, and honesty is too easy on his tongue for him to hold back. “It’s just. You’ll only play one game with me at a time and I want to keep playing with you as long as I can.”

There’s a beat of silence. Tsutsui is afraid to look up; he doesn’t want to see Kaga’s reaction, is afraid of what kind of frustration he’ll see behind the dark of the other’s eyes if he raises his gaze from the flex of his fingers pressing hard against each other. But his pulse is racing, his breathing coming too fast for him to catch himself back to calm, and he _has_ to look up, he can’t stand the suspense of not knowing. He takes a breath, and sets his shoulders, and then raises his chin to look up in a rush, like he’s jumping off a ledge and needs to move before he loses his nerve.

Kaga is staring at him. His focus hasn’t wavered, the force of his attention is still pinned to Tsutsui’s face; but the tension in his jaw is gone, has eased into shell-shocked distraction as he gazes blankly at the other. He looks like Tsutsui has just delivered some unbelievable revelation, like he doesn’t have a framework for making sense of the other’s words; but he doesn’t look angry anymore, just confused and a little bit flushed across his cheeks, as if he’s getting too warm in the enclosed space of the Go club’s room. When he blinks his focus slips, his gaze trailing down over Tsutsui’s face for a moment, and Tsutsui can feel himself going warm with self-consciousness, like his skin is prickling itself to heat under just the weight of Kaga’s stare. Kaga’s gaze catches at his mouth, lingers for a moment against the part of his lips, and then drops away entirely to the Go board in front of them, his chin coming down as his cheeks flame to sudden heat to match the bright color of his hair.

“You’re an idiot,” Kaga growls at the Go board, reaching out to knock against the edge of it so hard the array of stones slides off their alignment with the spaces on the board. “If you want to play more with me all you had to do was ask.”

“Oh,” Tsutsui says, feeling a little shocked and breathless like the air in the room has gone inexplicably thin between them. Kaga braces a hand against the table and pushes to his feet, and Tsutsui shoves back from the table himself in reflexive alignment to Kaga’s action. “But. Why are you leaving?”

“I have to go,” Kaga says, and he’s turning towards the door before Tsutsui can stop him, leaving the scattered outline of their game and walking away with complete disregard for Tsutsui pushing to his feet behind him. “I have plans with the shogi club this afternoon.” He reaches for the door, pushes hard against the handle; Tsutsui is left to watch him open the door and step out into the hallway with any attempt at protest he might make crushed to quiet on his tongue. He thinks Kaga will leave without saying anything else; but the other boy pauses with one foot still in the room, his head turned to look down the hallway rather than back to meet Tsutsui’s gaze.

“Next time,” he says, his voice gruff and harsh in the back of his throat like he’s fighting back a cough. “I’ll play against you as long as you want.”

Tsutsui can feel happiness hit him in a rush, like sunlight cresting the horizon and warming his skin in a sudden glow of heat. “Really?”

“Leave the book at home,” Kaga growls instead of answering. “If I see you using it again I’m going to tear it up.” And then he’s gone, striding out into the hallway and leaving the door to clatter shut behind him without any attempt to catch it back to softness. Tsutsui is left in the empty classroom with the creased pages of his book, the scattered pieces of the Go game to clean up, and his heart thudding itself all out-of-rhythm against the inside of his chest.

Even after he’s cleaned up the classroom and smoothed his book back to tidiness, Tsutsui can’t catch his breath, and he’s not sure he really minds that much.


	5. Bright

Tsutsui doesn’t say anything as he follows Kaga out of the tournament hall. He’s been quiet ever since Hikaru ended the last game of the tournament, barely speaking even to mumble apologies when the other’s age was discovered and their brief victory was swept away by disqualification. Kaga’s not sure if Tsutsui is disappointed that they were disqualified or relieved to have their secret found out; for himself, the pleasure of a victory would have been nice to bring home in offering for his father’s ever-ready judgment, but the admission that he was playing Go again is one he hasn’t been looking forward to, even if the tournament win would likely make the end result worth it. It’s just as good to have the satisfaction of knowing they were good enough to win without any real need to bring it up at home; the idea has him grinning as he pushes open the door to the tournament hall and steps out into the quiet of the all-but abandoned hallway.

“Well,” he says, speaking loud as the door to the other room swings shut behind them. “That’s over with.” He draws his arms up over his head, stretching out the tension in his shoulders and pressing his fingers together until the joints crack; when he lets his arms fall he can feel his body dropping into its usual stance, can feel the temporary pressure of competition gone like it was never there at all. “Now I can get back to shogi where I belong.”

Tsutsui takes a breath. This isn’t that remarkable in and of itself except for the force on the sound, the sharp edge of the inhale as he fills his lungs that says he’s bracing himself for something unusual. “Kaga.”

Kaga doesn’t look at Tsutsui. He keeps his gaze fixed on the doors in front of them, keeps his expression disinterested and neutral, as if the shiver of electricity that runs through him at the sound of Tsutsui’s voice doesn’t exist at all. “Yeah, what do you want?”

Tsutsui stops walking. It takes Kaga a moment to realize the other has stalled his forward movement, another second to react enough to stop his own footsteps and glance sideways, and by that time Tsutsui has already folded himself into a bow and is ducking his head so far forward Kaga can’t see anything of his face but the fall of his hair in front of his expression.

“Thank you,” Tsutsui says without straightening, his voice strained by the odd position and echoing oddly shrill in the enclosed space. He sounds like he’s fighting for the words, like he’s struggling to get them out; Kaga’s spine prickles again, shivering down the center of his back like his skin is refusing to accept its location on his body. It’s an unpleasant feeling, uncomfortable and ticklish in the back of his mind, but Tsutsui’s head is ducked down and he doesn’t look up to see the way Kaga grimaces in response to his position. “For playing in the tournament with me. I appreciate it very much.”

“Stand up,” Kaga growls, the order based as much on discomfort as on acceptance. Tsutsui tips his head up, looking up over the top of his off-center glasses and through the shadow of his hair, but he doesn’t straighten, and Kaga takes a step forward over the safe gap between them to grab roughly at Tsutsui’s shoulder. “I said _stand up_.” He makes a fist at the other’s coat and  drags hard at Tsutsui’s clothes to pull the other bodily back to upright. Tsutsui stumbles backwards, his footing too shaky to match the violence of Kaga’s actions, and Kaga’s isn’t steady enough to catch them both; they both go backwards, Tsutsui only keeping to his feet by the hold Kaga has at his shoulder and Kaga pushing until they both run up hard against the wall. Tsutsui lands hard, all the air in his lungs blowing out of him in a startled rush, and Kaga speaks fast, talking the louder to cover up the uncomfortable self-consciousness that came with Tsutsui’s bow to him. “What are you thanking me for, idiot, we didn’t even win the tournament.”

“We would have,” Tsutsui says, sounding breathless in a way that shivers fire all through Kaga’s blood. “If Hikaru were actually going to Haze, we would have. We could, next year.”

“Next year,” Kaga repeats. Tsutsui’s eyes are very bright behind his lopsided glasses; he has his head tipped back against the wall to meet Kaga’s gaze. Kaga hadn’t realized how much taller he is than the other boy. “The Go tournament next year.”

“Yes.” Tsutsui reaches up to push the frames of his glasses farther up his nose; he’s smiling, Kaga realizes, his expression glowing into warmth as he watches the other, like there’s something worth smiling about in the scowl Kaga is sure he’s wearing. “If Hikaru comes to Haze, and you come to play with us again, and I practice--”

“I won’t.” Kaga says it at once, a reflexive answer more than a deliberate one; but it’s enough to cut off Tsutsui’s speech at least, enough to shatter the pretty picture of the impossible future the other is painting, and in the pause left by Tsutsui’s silence Kaga can find the words to chase away _next time_ like he’s pushing a ghost away from the air. “I told you, I play shogi now.”

“But you’re good.” Tsutsui’s smile is fading, his eyes going soft on concern; his fingers tighten against the book he still has pressed close against his side. “You’re good at Go.”

“I’m better at shogi,” Kaga says shortly. He’s not even sure that it’s true; maybe it’s just that there’s no Touya Akira in shogi, maybe it’s that his _good_ is _good enough_ in shogi as it wasn’t in Go, as he can never make it be. He doesn’t care. It’s winning that matters, in the end, it’s victory that earns him a nod or even a smile from his father, and if shogi can keep him away from noticing the way Tsutsui’s glasses are too big for his face and staring at the faint suggestion of freckles over the bridge of the other’s nose, all the better for him. “I told you, I was only going to play this once.”

“But.” Tsutsui’s eyes are going wider, his expression going softer; when he blinks Kaga can see his eyes go liquid with emotion behind the shine of his glasses. “But if Hikaru comes to Haze--”

“Then you’ll still need to find someone else to make your stupid club,” Kaga says, harsh on the certainty of the words. “I’ve told you, I’m done with Go.”

“There would be three of us,” Tsutsui says, but his voice is going softer, is trailing into the resignation that Kaga can see settling over the line of the other’s shoulders like a weight pressing against the seams of his coat. “We would have enough for a club if you joined too.”

Kaga can imagine it. Games at lunchtime over the fragile shape of collapsible Go boards, Tsutsui’s laugh from over the width of a table, hours with the setting sun as backdrop for ‘just one more game,’ for just a few more minutes spent in the other’s company. Kaga could tease Tsutsui out-of-composure when he played Hikaru, could take the time when Tsutsui is distracted by thinking over his next move to watch the other through his hair, to see the way Tsutsui’s mouth sets itself onto focus and the way he runs his fingers along the frames of his glasses when he’s really distracted by what he’s doing. It would be an indulgence, a pleasure, something to look forward to with the consistency of a club meeting instead of the occasional games they manage at Tsutsui’s house when Kaga can get the time away from homework or shogi; and it’s an indulgence Kaga can’t afford himself, can’t allow himself to take even as he tells himself it would be just for a year, just for a few months, just for a handful of days before he went back to shogi. He’s better at shogi, he _prefers_ shogi; there’s only one reason he would join a Go club instead, and he can’t run the risk of anyone guessing at his rationale.

“Find someone else,” he says, more harshly than he means, but he doesn’t apologize for the edge on his voice, even when Tsutsui’s mouth trembles and his lashes collect the weight of tears against their feathery dark. It’s a stupid thing to cry about, Kaga tells himself, it’s stupid for Tsutsui to care so much about something so unimportant, and he lets the other’s shoulder go to reach for the book under his arm instead of thinking about the tension in the back of his throat or the burn that’s collecting to pressure behind his eyes. Kaga’s fingers close against the cover and pull hard at the shape of the book in Tsutsui’s hold, but Tsutsui moves as the shape slides free of his grip, reaching out to catch the other side of it and hold desperately to it. His head ducks, his shoulders tremble, but his hold is unwavering, even when Kaga tugs against the book so hard Tsutsui rocks forward off the wall. Kaga looks down at the edge of the book, at Tsutsui’s grip on the far side, at the strain of the other’s knuckles going white with the force of his hold; Tsutsui’s not looking at him, Kaga can’t see his eyes for the shadow of his hair and the shine off his glasses, but he can see the set at the other’s mouth, can see the tension along his jaw set into more resistance than he thought the other boy was capable of. His heart skids, his breathing catches in the back of his throat; and then he eases his pull on the book and lets his hold go more steadying than dragging.

“Stop relying on this,” he says, the words rough in his throat but low enough that no one but Tsutsui will hear them. Tsutsui’s head shifts, like he’s thinking about lifting his chin, but he doesn’t, and Kaga keeps talking to the dark fall of his hair instead of the shine of tears in the other’s eyes. “You play fine without it.” There’s a tension in the back of Kaga’s throat, a strain holding back his words; he has to swallow to clear it, has to cough to undo the knot enough for him to speak.

“You’re a better player than you think you are,” he says, and lets the book go. Tsutsui pulls it in towards himself, presses it close against his chest like armor as he lifts his head, and Kaga turns away fast, before he sees more than a glimpse of Tsutsui’s wide-eyed shock at the meaning of his words. The sun is bright against the frosted glass of the doors but he stares at the illumination as he strides down the hallway to push them open and leave Tsutsui behind him; by the time he gets outside his eyes are watering but he doesn’t do anything more than blink hard to clear the damp from his lashes.

By the time the door opens behind him again, the warmth of the sun has burned away any evidence of unallowable emotion from his eyes.


	6. Resignation

The Go club is more of a success than Tsutsui expected it would be.

Kaga keeps his word, unfortunately. That had been Tsutsui’s greatest hope originally, even if he knew it was fragile like butterfly wings and likely to collapse if he looked at it too long; after all, Kaga had told him no, had told him no with no hesitation in his voice or his expression, and Tsutsui has never known Kaga to change his mind after he makes it up. But Shindou does come to Haze, and he brings another player to the club with him, and even if Fujisaki can’t play in tournaments with Tsutsui and Shindou she’s enough to fill out the numbers of the club and a more-than-pleasant addition to the group. Fujisaki has dark eyes and a soft smile and hair that reminds Tsutsui of Kaga’s, and if she doesn’t have the same sharp-edged magnetism running through her veins that Kaga does she’s far easier to spend time with, even when Tsutsui’s heart is beating faster than it should against the inside of his chest. Besides, Tsutsui can see the way Fujisaki looks at Shindou, even if Shindou never bothers to look up from the goban long enough to see it for himself, and so he doesn’t need to worry about the reciprocation he’s not sure what to do with or a girlfriend he’s not completely sure he wants; he can focus instead on playing games with Shindou that he almost always loses and with Fujisaki that he almost always wins while quietly appreciating the glow of the sunlight off Fujisaki’s hair and the soft sweet of her laugh whenever she manages to make a move that impresses Tsutsui or startles Shindou.

It’s a pleasant way to spend the time. They can’t go to tournaments, not with only three players with mismatched genders; but for a while Tsutsui is content just to have a club to go to and more people to play Go against than the predictable patterns in the book he touches less and less with each day that goes by. He thinks Kaga might be proud of him, if Kaga is ever proud of anything other than himself; but it’s all left to his imagination, because Kaga spends all his time playing shogi and none at all with Tsutsui anymore, so Tsutsui can imagine as much pride in the other’s dark eyes as he likes. It’s a nice indulgence in fantasy, even if Tsutsui knows that’s all it is, and with Fujisaki’s smile and Shindou’s laugh Tsutsui can almost forget about the gap Kaga’s absence leaves in his life, can almost talk himself into something more than unrequited appreciation of Fujisaki’s gentle kindness and pretty smile, can almost tell himself the draw he always felt for the cut of Kaga’s mocking laughter and the off-hand shove of his bullying is a relic of childhood that he is leaving behind with every passing year.

Mitani undoes that pleasant fiction. Mitani comes in the door of the club with sullen shoulders and angry eyes and hair the color of flame and Tsutsui can feel all his blood go to steam in his veins at the first vicious snarl Mitani gives him from across the distance of the classroom. Mitani doesn’t care about Tsutsui -- he saves his attention for Shindou and his very occasional kindness for Fujisaki -- but Tsutsui burns for Mitani, Tsutsui can feel his heart aching towards greater speed in his chest every time Mitani is even in the room. His hair flickers like fire, his voice cuts like a knife, and every time he steps into the club space Tsutsui’s throat goes tight with unformed want, his chest aches with nostalgia for a memory he tries not to look at too closely. It’s not that he likes the dismissive huff Mitani gives him whenever he thinks Tsutsui’s done something stupid any more than it was the abuse and mockery Kaga offered that drew Tsutsui in towards him when they met in elementary school; but there’s something clear and shining about both of them, some shared edge under their personalities that makes them seem brighter than Tsutsui can ever imagine being, as if they take up a little more space in the world just via the aggression they offer that Tsutsui can’t hope to match. And Mitani brings more with him than that presence that Tsutsui can catch contagious in his veins, can reflect back like he’s a mirror glowing the brighter for the other’s proximity; he offers the possibility of a tournament, creates the potential for the boys in the club to register for a match and play in competition with someone other than the familiar faces they see across the goban on a daily basis. It’s a thrilling idea, for Tsutsui, presses tight against his chest with an excitement only barely dimmed by the bittersweet ache for Kaga’s perpetual absence; but he’s become accustomed to that, long ago resigned himself to Kaga’s complete disinterest in him or his chosen pursuits, and so when he looks forward to the tournament he does so with a smile he doesn’t have to fight for and with anticipation he doesn’t have to feign.

It’s then that Shindou comes back with plans to take the insei test. He arrives bright, smiling all over his face and glowing with that strange inner light like he’s generating radiance from within his own self, like he’s alive and bright in some way that Tsutsui has never completely understood; it’s hard to remind him of the ban on amateur tournaments for insei, painful to see the way that excitement flickers out into shock as the book of kifu drops from his hands to the floor. It’s Tsutsui who speaks first, who says “Good thing you realized before taking the test” as something between relief and sympathy; and so it’s Tsutsui who sees the hesitation behind Shindou’s eyes, the flinch before he answers that speaks to his true reply before he has yet found the words to disagree. Tsutsui goes silent, feeling the weight of the loss like a blow while Shindou is still visibly struggling with his decision; but Tsutsui knows what it’s going to be, can see it clear on the other’s face well before Shindou is aware he has made it. Mitani is the one who protests, who hisses the low growl of a threat on his words, the simmering beginnings of anger like a warning siren far in the distance; but Shindou doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care, because his answer is formed around “Touya…” trailing off in that way he does, as if everyone else in the room has entirely ceased to exist in the shadow cast by Touya Akira. Tsutsui flinches, bracing himself for the inevitable explosion before it hits, and then:

“ _Shindou!_ ” Mitani growls, his anger breaking free of the brittle cold that it always comes with, with him, that it is only ever the stronger for how he holds it back and forms it in on itself. “You made me join the Go club for the tournament!” Tsutsui is cringing, instinct telling him to retreat out of the path of even secondhand danger, but Mitani is lunging forward to grab at a handful of Shindou’s jacket and Tsutsui can feel adrenaline surge into his veins, can feel the sudden strain of responsibility knot into the force of action against the length of his spine. Mitani is shaking Shindou by his hold, is still shouting into the other’s face, and Tsutsui is stepping forward and reaching out to stick his hand into the midst of the hurricane, snapping “Mitani!” with a force on the words stronger than any he has ever before used and that he knows will still fall far short of reaching the other boy. Mitani’s jaw is set, Mitani’s gaze is fixed, and Tsutsui is sure the other boy isn’t hearing or seeing any of the others around him, isn’t so much as aware of their presence for the white-knuckled focus he has on Shindou’s face. Tsutsui’s heart is pounding, his skin prickling with the need to stop the fight and his throat tight on echoed emotion from the pain digging into every line of Mitani’s face, and he’s just opening his mouth to offer words that he hasn’t thought through when there’s movement at the corner of his eye and a voice saying “Hey, Tsutsui” in such familiar tones that Tsutsui’s whole body goes instantly, startlingly hot before he’s even recognized the speaker.

Kaga’s inside the room by the time Tsutsui turns, crouching low just under the sill of the window he leapt through. There’s a cigarette at his lips, sweat darkening his hair to his forehead, but neither of those are what Tsutsui notices any more than he hears the shouts of pursuit from the other side of the open window. What Tsutsui notices is the color of Kaga’s hair in the sunlight, the flex of his fingers at the floor as he catches himself to lean in backwards under the sill, and the curve of almost-a-smile against his lips as he fits himself into the shadows.

“ _Kaga!_ ” Tsutsui blurts, the surge of heat in his veins pulling voice from his throat before he has the least chance to close his mouth on the sound.

Kaga doesn’t even look at him. “Sorry to interrupt your fun, but hide me,” he says, the words a command with all the casual weight of assumed obedience behind them as he pulls his cigarette from his lips and tosses it in Shindou’s direction. “Here, take this.”

“Wha--?!” Shindou blurts, catching the cigarette more from reflex, Tsutsui thinks, than intent. “What do I do?”

“The smoke!” Tsutsui gasps, heart racing for too many reasons to pull apart right now, and lifts his hands to wave frantically through the bitter trail of cigarette smoke hanging in the air of the room. “The smoke!” He can’t find more coherency for his statement than that, but either the gesture or the strain on his voice is enough, because the other club members all follow his lead in waving their hands through the air in an attempt to disperse the evidence of Kaga’s cigarette. They only have a moment; then there’s a shadow at the window, the form of the P.E. teacher looming at the window, and they all freeze where they are to meet the suspicious stare he fixes them with. Kaga is still crouched below the sill, his jacket pulled up high to cover the eyecatching bright of his hair; his shoulders are mere inches from the teacher’s fingertips, if the man so much as glances down he’s sure to see Kaga below him. He looks around the room, from Mitani to Fujisaki to Tsutsui, all with their hands still raised into the air overhead; and then he fixes on Tsutsui, his forehead creasing into suspicion as he gazes at him.

“Tsutsui,” he growls. “You seen Kaga?”

Tsutsui doesn’t glance down to meet Kaga’s gaze. His heart is pounding so fast he feels lightheaded. “No, I haven’t.”

“That bastard,” the teacher grumbles, and turns away to stride back away from the window without ever looking down at the shape crouching below him. There’s a pause for breath, a moment while everyone in the room waits for the threat of danger to pass; then Kaga lifts his head to peer up towards the sill, and Shindou reemerges from the hall to ask “Alright?” and Tsutsui takes a breath and sighs relief and says “Yeah,” with his whole body sagging heavy on the easing of the panic in his chest.

Kaga slides his jacket back off his hair and straightens to his feet as he settles it back into place. “Thanks, thanks,” he says, smiling satisfaction as the tension in his shoulders relaxes back to his casual slouch.

Tsutsui can’t think. His heart is still racing, if for different reasons than either Mitani and Shindou’s fight or the sudden appearance of the teacher and the ensuing deception; but Kaga is standing in front of him, and grinning reckless amusement down at him, and all Tsutsui can manage to do is yell “ _Kaga!_ ” with as much frustration as he can muster to cover the tremor of excitement still radiating through him at Kaga’s unexpected reappearance in his life. Kaga doesn’t even flinch at Tsutsui’s volume, much less the shrill edge of his voice; he just laughs, his whole face glowing into delighted amusement, and Tsutsui can feel his heart drop like it’s falling to the floor at Kaga’s feet just at that one spill of amusement from the other boy. Fujisaki is still in the room, with her soft eyes and pretty hair and simple kindness, and Mitani is still seething over Tsutsui’s shoulder, made up of those rough edges and vicious insults that satisfy some dark masochism that aches inside Tsutsui’s chest alongside the beat of his heart. But Kaga’s in front of him, bright hair and brighter smile and insults that come with a smile and the almost-affection of a laugh under them, and with Kaga in the room Tsutsui can’t make himself so much as glance at anyone else.

It’s a kind of comfort, in a way. Kaga might not be in the Go club, and Tsutsui might see him a bare handful of times over the span of months; but at least he knows, now, that there’s no point in trying to talk himself into the ease of a relationship with a pretty girl or even the self-destructive pain of an unreciprocated crush on a boy’s cruelty. It’s all just an attempt to find Kaga again anyway; no one else is ever going to shine as bright in Tsutsui’s eyes as Kaga does, and has, and always will. It might not be requited, he might not even have the comfort of Kaga’s presence anymore since the other boy left Go to pursue the shogi he says he’s better at; but Tsutsui can deal with that, he thinks, he can accept whatever comes even if he’s fated to be abandoned with nothing but his broken heart for company.

Once he knows where he stands, Tsutsui doesn’t need a book to walk him through the end game.


	7. Breathe

Kaga doesn’t see much of Tsutsui during their last year of middle school.

It’s for the best, he tells himself, when he catches a glimpse of sunlight off glasses or the shift of too-long hair against the collar of a uniform coat and finds himself turning reflexively before he realizes it’s not the person he’s always looking for, the person he’s always thinking of no matter how hard he tries to keep his focus on shogi and nothing else, not Go and not the Go club and certainly not Tsutsui’s wide eyes and soft mouth. It’s better to keep his distance, better to do by physical separation what he can’t seem to manage by willpower alone and remove the draw Tsutsui exerts all unknowing by just not being close to it. It helps, a little; at least Kaga can keep his mind on what he’s doing during the day, mostly, and when he’s playing shogi he can lose himself entirely to the flow of the game, can forget about everything else except the pieces on the board, including his old friend and the uncomfortable pressure inside his chest whenever he thinks of Tsutsui’s face. It’s not enough to stop the dreams, the hazy almost-thoughts of the other boy that follow him into sleep and creep into the fringes of illusions more pleasant than Kaga wants to admit and detailed in all the wrong ways; but Kaga gets used to those, since he can’t get rid of them, and by the time he’s out of the shower in the morning he’s washed the memories from his mind along with the evidence of them from his body. And the year passes, between boring classes and the interest of shogi games and the constant effort to keep Tsutsui from his mind, and by the time graduation comes Kaga can feel it like relief down in the very center of bones, can almost taste the release from the hallways that are still too close to exactly the person he is trying to avoid with all the power in his command.

He’s looking forward to the freedom. Playing shogi doesn’t require him to attend high school; the day of the graduation ceremony is the last time he’ll have to wear a uniform, the last time he’ll have to sit through speeches from boring adults he doesn’t care about. He almost is an adult all on his own, he tells himself, he can make his own way and find his own path to success; and if it’s far away from Tsutsui and the too-vivid imagination the other’s presence brings, all the better. The thought is enough to carry Kaga through the dull span of the teachers’ speaking, and the not-quite rhythm of the other students graduating, and then it’s his turn to shuffle to the front and accept his diploma from the barely-interested grip of a teacher Kaga doesn’t care about at all. He turns out to the crowd, ready to file back to his seat and slouch through the rest of the ceremony; and Tsutsui is clapping for him, the rhythm of his motion so striking it catches all Kaga’s attention even out of the blur of the rest of the crowd. Tsutsui’s eyes are wet, his cheeks damp with tears Kaga can see even at this distance, but he’s smiling, glowing all over his face as if Kaga’s graduation is more thrilling for him than his own impending one, and Kaga can feel his heartbeat skid, can feel his months of carefully constructed distance dissolve like they were never there at all. His cheeks go hot, his face flushing into a self-conscious glow he can’t shake off, and he ducks his head in a rush, staring fixedly at his feet as he makes his way back to his seat so he doesn’t have to see the way Tsutsui is looking at him. He keeps his head down through the next handful of students, hunching his shoulders and telling himself he won’t look up; but then the announcer calls Tsutsui’s name, and Kaga’s gaze lifts like he’s answering the sound of his own, his reaction too involuntary and necessary for him to hold back. Tsutsui is on stage, his jacket straight on his shoulders and his glasses crooked on his face; he’s still crying, his face is still shining with tears as much as with happiness, but when Kaga looks at him Tsutsui looks back, turning his head to beam at Kaga like there’s been no time at all between this moment and the last time they spoke. Kaga’s heart turns over, his cheeks burn again, but there’s a pressure against his chest, too, the weight of bittersweet happiness too sharp and not-quite-pleasant for him to easily turn aside from. He keeps watching instead, watches Tsutsui stumble down the steps and make his way back to his seat, and by the time the other has sat back down Kaga has talked himself into a pass for the day, for the hour, for the span of time between the roar of applause for the graduating class and leaving the front gates of the school. He’s held himself back for months, has kept his distance for week upon week of endless restraint; he thinks he’s earned a break, even if just for this short gap of time.

The end of the ceremony is met with utter chaos. The room is filled with sound echoing off the rafters high overhead and feeding in on itself until Kaga can barely take a breath for the noise. He makes for the door instead, aiming for the freedom of the main courtyard rather than trying to make his way through the crush of the crowd to any of the friends he’ll be waving off after today to see again or not as the future allows. Even outside it’s busy, the courtyard filled with clusters of friends promising to stay in touch even with the force of reality to pull them apart; but it’s quieter, at least, with the open sky overhead and the cherry trees raining the soft pink of blossoms down to scatter over the pavement under Kaga’s shoes. Kaga pauses underneath the dark spread of the branches of one, glances up to the flowers clinging to the tree in place of leaves, and from behind him: “Kaga!” in a voice so bright and familiar he doesn’t have to turn to recognize the speaker. He does turn anyway, his reaction to Tsutsui’s call too immediate to hold back, and Tsutsui launches himself at Kaga as the other turns, catching him in an impulsive hug before Kaga has a chance to even take a breath of shock. Tsutsui’s arms are around his neck, Tsutsui’s pressing close against him; for a moment Kaga can breathe in the smell of the other’s shampoo clinging to his hair, can feel the weight of Tsutsui’s hold tugging against his shoulders like the other is entrusting his balance to Kaga’s keeping. Kaga’s spine stiffens, his breathing stalls in the back of his throat and refuses to shift; but this is a hug, after all, he knows how he’s meant to respond, and his arm is coming up almost of its own volition to fall around the curve of Tsutsui’s waist and awkwardly weight the other’s body against his. For a moment Kaga has Tsutsui in the hold of his arm, has Tsutsui warm and smiling against him; then the other lets his hold go, and Kaga lets his arm fall, and Tsutsui is stepping away to glow happiness at him with no awareness in his expression of Kaga’s self-conscious strain.

“Congratulations!” Tsutsui says, spilling the sound past his lips as he beams at Kaga. His lashes are heavy with tears, emotion apparently running too high in him to be contained to calm reactions for the moment; as Kaga blinks at him Tsutsui lifts a hand to push his glasses up and scrub at the damp on his cheeks, but even this has no dimming effect at all on the bright of his smile. “We did it, Kaga!”

“Yeah,” Kaga says, the words coming wooden from the pressure in his chest and the focus on Tsutsui’s smile that he can’t seem to blink free from his eyes. “Congrats.”

“I didn’t think it was really going to happen,” Tsutsui says, still trying to stem the flow of his tears with his sleeve and completely failing to even keep up with the new ones. “I thought we’d get expelled or held back before now.”

Kaga’s laugh is startling even to him, a burst of amusement that comes so fast he doesn’t even realize it’s pressing at the back of his throat until it’s free. “Yeah, well, I was doing my best to get kicked out,” he says, and just like that he can move again, can reach out to swing a teasing punch against Tsutsui’s upper arm. Tsutsui stumbles sideways at the impact and lifts his hand to rub against the hit, but his smile doesn’t flicker, and Kaga’s grinning too, now, his reactions finally catching up to the importance of the moment. “You’re way too much of a nerd to get held back, though.”

Tsutsui laughs, even Kaga’s attempt at mockery reflecting into delight in his throat that Kaga can feel shimmer through the whole of his body like it’s trying to echo the thrum of sound in Tsutsui’s voice. “I guess so,” he says, and then he’s letting his arm go and reaching out for Kaga again, closing his fingers over the cuff of the other’s coat like he can’t stay away, as if Kaga’s body is as much a magnet dragging him closer as his own is for Kaga’s barely-restrained impulse. “I’m so glad, though. Aren’t you glad?”

Kaga still can’t breathe. His throat feels raw, like it’s been worn rough by tears he hasn’t shed, like suddenly having Tsutsui right here in front of him is undoing all the resistance he has carefully built into a wall between them over the last few months. Tsutsui’s fingers are tight against his wrist; he would swear they feel like a brand, like the heat rushing to the surface of his skin to meet the other’s touch will sear and scar and leave him marked with some indelible proof of the desire in his own veins, the secret want that grips his chest into pressure he can’t shake off no matter how he tries.

“Yeah,” he says, and means it, even though he feels like he’s choking, feels like he’s dying for want of the air surrounding all the space around him. “Let go, loser,” and he twists his hand away, breaking free of Tsutsui’s hold even before the other has gone through the motion of easing his grip.

“Ah,” Tsutsui says, “sorry” but he’s still smiling, even after Kaga has shoved his hair roughly back from his face and bought himself enough time for his blush to fade, and when Kaga looks back up to see Tsutsui’s dark eyes shining with happiness, all the pressure in his chest isn’t enough to hold back the answering smile at his mouth.

It’s just for now, he tells himself, just for this moment. It’s only a few minutes, there’s no one here to see, no one to judge casual contact between childhood friends during a moment of celebration. It won’t hurt anything, he’s sure, he’ll have this and then they’ll leave and he’ll go on about his life and forget all about Tsutsui and the heat he always sparks low in Kaga’s stomach.

Still. When Kaga reaches out to drop his arm around Tsutsui’s shoulders, he feels like he can breathe for the first time in months.


	8. Shade

Tsutsui spends high school on his own.

He’s not completely isolated. It’s nothing like things were when he was in elementary school, when Kaga speaking to him was like a beam of sunlight picking him out on a cloudy day, when the relief of having someone, _anyone_ to talk to more than made up for Kaga’s overwhelming aggression during what passed for conversation. There’s a Go club at Tsutsui’s high school, one prepopulated before he ever starts; he’s one of three first-years who join the handful of senpais there, and he’s not good enough to make the cut for tournaments but it’s nice just to have people to play with, to have friendships that form easily over the width of a goban and the pleasure of casual competition. Tsutsui likes the games, likes the conversation, likes the feeling of having a place to belong, until even Kaga’s absence has faded to a gap in his life that he can live around, that he can go days without thinking about at all.

In his second year of high school he gets a girlfriend. It’s not Tsutsui’s doing; she’s another member of the Go club, a quiet girl who he has never spoken to except to accept her mumbled requests to play a game against him. But he comes to school one morning to a letter in his shoe locker, and leaves class to hear a confession in the tree-shaded back of the school, and he has no reason to refuse and he’s warm with the glow of flattery, so he accepts and spends the whole of his walk home turning over the word _girlfriend_ in his head to see how it fits against his sense of himself. It’s nice, he decides by the time he comes in the front door, and he might not be shivering with electricity like he used to in middle school but it’s a comfortable sort of warmth nonetheless, the glow of a fire across a room instead of the crackle and snap of lightning in the air, and Tsutsui finds himself smiling over his homework more than actually working on it.

There’s news of Kaga, sometimes, when Tsutsui goes looking for it. Any communication between them ended as abruptly as a door slamming with their graduation; Tsutsui had tried calling twice, weeks apart, just to see how Kaga was doing. But the first time Kaga was out of the house, and the second he was too busy to come to the phone, and even though Tsutsui had left a message for him he wasn’t surprised when there was never any follow-up call to his original attempt. Kaga’s busy, after all; he’s playing shogi against professionals, now, until it’s easier for Tsutsui to read the newspaper for news of him than to continue with ultimately futile attempts to connect with the other directly. He seems to be doing well, whenever Tsutsui goes out of his way to pick his name out of the list of matches and tournaments; he wins handfuls of games, doesn’t lose until the semi-finals or finals, and that’s the most Tsutsui can let himself pay attention to before he starts to feel that uncomfortable pressure settling in against his spine like an itch he can’t reach to scratch away. He locks himself in his room after that, to work on homework if he can focus or to lie across the folded blankets of his neatly-made bed, and if he has to make an effort to fantasize about his girlfriend instead of a mocking laugh and rough hands at least he does put in the necessary work to manage it.

His classes are easy, his homework time-consuming but straightforward. Near the end of his second year Tsutsui gets added to the list for Go tournaments and starts playing matches in the tense-charged atmosphere that comes with official competition. His girlfriend goes to all his games, is always waiting for him afterwards with a smile and, after his first win, the press of her hand warm and soft in his. Tsutsui decides he likes that too, likes how simple happiness can be if he reaches for it, if he lets himself be content with little things like the way her fingers fit around his or the way her hair falls to a curtain around her face when she blushes and ducks her head under the weight of it. He likes how dark her lashes are, likes how soft her mouth looks and feels, as he finds out the day their high school wins a tournament game and she pulls him around a corner of a shadowed hallway to catch at his hair and pull him into a kiss. Tsutsui had been thinking about Kaga, had seen the reporters taking notes at the corner of the room and been wondering if Kaga will remember the name of his high school, if Kaga will recognize his picture in the black-and-white photograph of the winners; and then his girlfriend’s fingers are in his hair, and her mouth is pressing close against his, and Tsutsui’s eyes go wide as all his distracting thoughts give way to startled awareness of how soft her mouth is against his.

He likes kissing. He likes kissing a lot, whenever they can find a dark corner or a few minutes alone before the rest of the Go club arrives or after they have dispersed to their homes at the end of the day. His girlfriend is warm, and her mouth is sweet, and after a while she gets more aggressive, will press herself against him when there’s a wall at Tsutsui’s back or, on one particularly memorable occasion, straddle his lap for a span of five breathless-risky minutes when they both get out of class and to the clubroom early. Tsutsui takes her out for dinner on Christmas, and when he blushes his way through explaining the reservation he made at a love hotel she goes crimson, and ducks her head on a smile, and reaches out to take his hand under the edge of the table. They make use of the reservation and the room after dinner is over; Tsutsui finds it overwhelming, can barely catch his breath for the sheer distraction of the tangle of her hair in his hands, and the strange slick of sweat on skin pressed close together, and the wholly unfamiliar heat of another person’s body so near to his own. It’s over too fast, before he can even decide if he likes it or not; but they stay another hour, and try things again, and by the time they leave Tsutsui has decided he _does_ like this, likes it even better than kissing and definitely more than the effort of the fantasies he constructs for himself late at night. He doesn’t have to chase Kaga away from his thoughts when he can barely remember his own name for the heat in his veins; there’s nothing to remember, nothing to feel guilty for, just the immediate physicality of the sensation and the pant of their breathing coming together.

That’s how the last of his high school goes. He plays Go, and kisses his girlfriend, and sometimes does more, when he can afford a hotel for a few hours or her house is empty for an evening. They talk about the future once: but Tsutsui’s going to university, and she’s not, and it’s a short conversation that they end up chasing off with the simpler distraction of their bodies moving together. It’s not a permanent relationship, they both know, and if Tsutsui feels a flicker of relief along with the bittersweet ache of preemptive loss, he doesn’t let himself think about it, and he doesn’t put it into words either out loud or in his own mind. It’s enough to be content, to be simply satisfied for the span of a few months, and Tsutsui doesn’t think about graduation and he doesn’t check the newspapers for news of shogi competitions.

He cries at graduation. He knew he would -- Tsutsui has always cried easily, and graduations carry more than enough emotional weight to win tears from him -- but he feels the loss, this time, even more clearly than he did in middle school. His girlfriend holds onto him for long minutes, crying into his shoulder until the fabric is soaked through with the wet of her tears and he’s leaving damp spots against the windswept tangle of her hair; and then she lets go of him, and steps back, and she’s not his girlfriend any longer. There are other goodbyes, congratulations and farewells and more tears, happiness and loss too close together to be parted by any kind of rational thought, and by the time Tsutsui turns and walks past the gates of his high school for the last time he feels empty, like he’s cried out everything that has made him who he is and left just a hollow shell to ghost back along the streets to the house that will only be his for as long as it takes him to find enough work to support himself. It’s quiet when he arrives, with no one to reply to his habitual “I’m home,” and Tsutsui doesn’t wait for a nonexistent answer; he toes his shoes off in the entryway, pushes them carefully to the side so they will be out of the way when his mother returns home, and then climbs the stairs to his bedroom. He feels lighter, drained, like he’s lost some comfort at the same time he has shed an unbearable weight; his diploma is set against his desk to be carefully stored later, his jacket folded and hung over a chair, and then he goes to the bed to stretch out across the blankets and gaze unseeing at the ceiling while his mind runs over the weight of the day. He thinks about cherry blossoms, thinks about tears wet on his face; and he thinks of Kaga, lingering over his memory of the other’s features as he hasn’t allowed himself to do for months that add up to more than a year. He wonders if Kaga looks different now, wonders if Kaga ever thinks of him; wonders if Kaga has gone to a hotel like Tsutsui has, if he’s gasped himself into pleasure over a stranger in a reflection of Tsutsui’s own experience. The idea alone is enough to flush Tsutsui’s skin, to shudder an echo of long-lost electricity through his veins; and this time, when his thoughts tip sideways towards fantasy, he doesn’t chase them away.

His imagination unfolds so easily, as if it were a flower waiting the arrival of springtime to burst into full bloom over the span of a handful of heartbeats, as if the idea were always hovering in the back of his mind, unacknowledged and unappreciated but there all the same, growing and taking on shape with every experience he’s lived through over the last years. It’s a simple thing to transpose his memories of sweat-slick skin with Kaga’s body against his, easy to imagine the weight of Kaga’s mouth crushing hard against his lips; Tsutsui is gasping before he’s even thought of Kaga’s hands on him, before he’s thought to frame the grip of his own hand as the slide of Kaga’s hold instead. Kaga’s hand would be rougher, maybe a little more calloused, and he would tighten his fingers harder, and-- and Tsutsui is coming before he has time to finish the thought, before he has more than sketched the image of Kaga behind his tight-shut eyes. His orgasm leaves him gasping, shaking all through the whole of his body with a force he can’t restrain like he’s being lit up from the inside out, like all the cells of his body are jolting into life after being stalled-still for so long he had forgotten what it felt like. He shudders against the bed, quaking through aftershocks that run through him as if it is truly his world that is shaking itself apart, that is coming undone at the seams, and once it’s past he’s left to pant for air as he gazes at the ceiling and settles himself into the new trajectory of his life.

He’ll stay single from now on, he thinks. It might not offer the satisfaction or the comfort a relationship provides; but it’s not fair, he thinks, to be always looking for shades of red in the dark of someone else’s hair.


	9. Jealousy

Sometimes Kaga thinks he should have gone to high school.

Not that he misses the education. There’s nothing he would have learned in his classes that would better prepare him for the stress of the life he’s chosen to pursue, nothing he would have gained from the hours of daily boredom that would make him any more successful in the shogi games he often wins and too-frequently loses; but it would have been a delay, at least, would have bought him the span of a few years to stall before committing himself to the independence that long since lost its original appeal under the crushing weight of the necessary responsibilities that come with living alone. Nothing would be different, Kaga thinks; except he might be a little older, at least, might not feel so ultimately disillusioned with everything about his existence by the time he turns eighteen. The idea is a pleasant one, at least in the confines of his head where he doesn’t have to introduce it to the rough edges of reality, and that’s where Kaga wants to keep the things he likes best anyway. He keeps the daydream of the high school life he passed on in the back of his thoughts, alongside the memories of Tsutsui’s smile that fail to dim with time as they were meant to, and if he doesn’t let himself think about either during the day they both appear in his dreams, when the walls he’s erected around his subconscious cave to a touch as if they’re made of sand.

It’s not that Kaga is miserable. Miserable would imply some kind of focused dislike for his current existence, and he definitely doesn’t feel that. He’s just tired all the time, tired of the tiny apartment his father pays for with less and less grace each month and tired of the tournaments he can almost-win when an _almost_ is no better for his future than an outright loss would be. He’s tired of thinking about high school, tired of thinking about his old friends, tired of missing the simple companionship of elementary school, when he didn’t have to avoid Tsutsui and the awkward thoughts that came with the other’s smile and the biggest concern he had each day was who he would be eating lunch with. Elementary school was easy, with money in his pocket to buy a lunch and the sure win of playing Go against Tsutsui after school, and there are times in the humid quiet of his darkened apartment that Kaga wishes he could be ten again, wishes that he could turn back time and retreat to those early years before he had thought of anything as complicated as making a living or taking care of himself.

He has a job, of sorts. It’s a part-time delivery job, enough to give him money for groceries and occasional nights out that always turn out to be more depressing than otherwise. His father bought him the scooter the job required, and his employer paid for him to get a license; Kaga doesn’t mind the work, even if it takes hours of time away from the constant review of past tournament matches and stress for upcoming ones. It’s nice to have nothing more important to think about than the crisscross of the city streets, nice to have the ruffle of wind across his skin instead of the stale air of enclosed spaces with too many bodies in them; Kaga thinks, sometimes, that he’s happiest when he’s working his extra job, or at least feels the most alive. It’s good to move, good to clear his mind of everything except for the hum of the engine under him and the idle consideration of traffic flowing around him, the traffic that he’s part of in a way he never feels part of the crowds of people he interacts with most days. It feels a little like playing a game of shogi, a good one, one of the ones when he’s calm enough and playing well enough that he loses himself to the flow of the pieces, that his actions fall more by instinct than intent, like all the stress and burden of being an adult falls away to let him just be for a little while.

He’s in the midst of it one afternoon, caught in traffic at a red light and paying more attention to the flow of the cars around him than to the idle thrum of thoughts in his head. He’s on his way back from a delivery, working his way through the hum of cars to his workplace without any particular rush, now that his delivery is done; he’s thinking about how much time he has left in the day, wondering whether he should try cooking something for dinner or just buy a meal from the convenience store on the way home. He should do the first, he knows, with the sort of vague guilt that always comes with the _should_ and _have to_ of maturity; and just as surely he knows he won’t, is already thinking through the ready-made options on the convenience store shelf as a cluster of pedestrians turn off the sidewalk and start to cross in front of the stopped traffic. He thinks he’ll have something nicer tonight, maybe spend a little more on food than he usually does; and then one of the crossers turns towards the others, and laughs, and becomes Tsutsui in the span of time it takes Kaga to blink.

Kaga’s whole body prickles with startled adrenaline. He hasn’t seen Tsutsui in years, has thought about the other as little as his stubborn subconscious will let him; but there’s no question it’s Tsutsui in front of him, with the same too-long haircut falling into his face and his smile bright on the edge of self-consciousness under the expression. He doesn’t see Kaga; he’s looking at the two people with him rather than scanning the vehicles, his attention held by whatever he’s saying, and Kaga doesn’t say anything, just gapes disbelieving at the ghost of his old friend given life again by this accidental contact. Tsutsui is smiling, Tsutsui is laughing; and then the person he’s talking to lifts a hand to push a long strand of hair back behind a jewelry-adorned ear, and Kaga blinks and sees: Tsutsui with a _woman_ , with a child, with the easy rhythm of comfort on his strides. The child is too old to possibly be Tsutsui’s, Kaga realizes after the first moment of horrified panic, and when he looks again the woman looks more friendly than romantic; there’s a gap of several inches between her hand and Tsutsui’s, at least, and Tsutsui has a Go book under his arm that offers a straightforward explanation for the dynamic of the obvious relationship. But Kaga’s still shivering with that first moment of panic, still feeling himself shaking with adrenaline for what he thought for a moment he was seeing, and then Tsutsui is across the street and the light is changing and there’s no time left for Kaga to call out to get the other’s attention even if he wanted to. The car behind Kaga honks irritation at his delay in starting, offering nonverbal protest to his continued stop in the middle of the lane, and Kaga revs the engine at once, throwing himself forward with such acceleration that it knocks all thoughts of Tsutsui from his head for a moment while he struggles to maintain his balance and control of the scooter. He recovers himself after a moment, or at least regains his physical balance; his mental composure remains in pieces for the whole ride back to work, leaving him to nearly crash twice in a handful of blocks before he finally pulls into his parking spot and shuts off the scooter with something closer to relief than he has ever before felt at the action.

“I’ll call him,” Kaga growls to himself, framing the words into aggression in his throat like they make up the bricks of the defensive wall he’s erecting around his thoughts, around the ache of uncomfortable pressure in his chest and the weird, desperate thrum of his pulse coming too-hard in his veins. “Just to catch up.” He pulls the key from the ignition, pockets it without thinking about the motion; when he turns to go back into the building his head is bowed, his thoughts still tangled around the warmth of Tsutsui’s smile in the midday sun. “As a friend.”

He doesn’t think about the uncomfortable tension in his chest, doesn’t let himself focus on the chill that hit him when he first saw what he thought was a family around the other. If he puts a name to it, he’ll have to acknowledge why he would be jealous, and he can’t find a reason safe enough to look at for very long.


	10. Excitement

Tsutsui never thought university would be easy. He threw himself into his studies even in middle school, when Go with the club was the only allowance he made to any kind of extracurricular activity, and high school was harder still as he fit the ever-increasing demands of his classes around new relationships. The absence of a romantic partner is a boon, at the moment -- it lets him give his studies the focus they require of him, at this level of education -- but even so he can barely keep his head above water, can barely stay on top of the assignments and studying required by his classes. He hasn’t yet made any friends at university, or at least none that go beyond the mild acquaintances born from shared exhausted and occasionally sympathetic smiles after the completion of a test or a particularly intense class project. There are occasional calls from Tsutsui’s high school friends, even less common trips out to get a cup of tea together; but Tsutsui can feel the gap in their lives like a chasm that spans far more than the immediate inconvenience of conflicting schedules, and either his friends do too or they just don’t have the time to see him more often than once every month or two. Mostly Tsutsui is left to his own devices, which means he’s left to fill the hours of his day with the tutoring work that helps pay for rent on his apartment and working through the constant flood of homework that never seems to lessen no matter how much he fits into the hours before exhaustion takes hold of him to force him to collapse into rest. He hardly has time to think about those friends he’s stayed in contact with, much less those from years prior, and if he thinks of Kaga at all it’s during dreams hidden by sleep so deep that he’s forgotten them by the time he’s made it to the bathroom for his morning shower.

He’s studying for a math test tonight, working through an assignment that spans four pages, of which he’s only finished one in two hours’ time. His head is aching in spite of the three cups of tea he’s had since he got home, protesting either the lack of sleep from the night before or the delay on his dinner, Tsutsui doesn’t know which. He’s thinking about pausing to get another cup of tea, and perhaps to find a dose of pain relievers for the rising headache pressing against his temples, when the phone rings, a harsh jangle of sound that startles him into a yelp of shock before he can collect the fragments of his scattered attention enough to push his assignment aside and get up to take the call. He wonders if it’s one of his high school friends, is already working through his schedule for the next few days to find a half-hour for a trip to a coffee shop or similar; and then he picks up the receiver and offers “Hello, this is Tsutsui,” in the polite tone he always drops into for phone calls. There’s a crackle of sound, a huff of breath hard against the other end of the line, and “You haven’t relaxed at all, have you?” in a voice that skitters electricity all down Tsutsui’s spine even before he’s found the link to recognition in the depths of his memories.

“Oh my god,” he says, startled clear out of any attempt at graceful response. “Kaga?”

“Yeah.” Kaga sounds a little rougher, a little sharper than he did in middle school; his voice is lower, it rumbles along the phone line and prickles sensation over Tsutsui’s scalp as if Kaga is in the room with him, as if there are fingers ghosting against the strands of his hair. “Been a while.”

“It has.” Tsutsui lifts a hand to touch his hair. It doesn’t stop the tingle of awareness running hot across all his skin. “I didn’t expect to hear from you.”

“Should I have sent warning ahead?” Kaga snaps.

“No,” Tsutsui says, a little too fast but completely unable to calm the frantic edge off his voice. “No, I’m glad.” His voice cracks, skidding out over the last word as it hasn’t done since middle school; he shuts his mouth hard and takes a deep breath in an attempt to ease the tension rising in every line of his body. “I’m really glad to hear from you.” That comes out better, softer and heavy with sincerity, and for a moment it just hangs in the air, gaining weight that makes Tsutsui color as Kaga delays his response. Finally:

“Yeah,” gruff again, without any overt acknowledgment of the warmth on Tsutsui’s tone. “It’s been years since I heard anything from you, I thought I’d see what you were up to. Graduated high school, got married, had a kid?”

“No,” Tsutsui says reflexively, rejection of the last half of Kaga’s question without thinking of the first. “I mean. Yes, I graduated. I don’t have a child. I’m going to university.”

“Yeah,” Kaga says. “You would.” Then, fast, before Tsutsui has a chance to says anything else: “I gotta go to a practice match for shogi,” the words cutting off the stuttering progress of the conversation before Tsutsui can voice protest. His heart sinks, disappointment weighting all his limbs, but Kaga keeps talking, as rapidly as he always used to when he was criticizing Tsutsui’s Go play, back when their conversations were more Kaga talking at Tsutsui than any kind of a dialogue. “Let’s meet for coffee tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Tsutsui repeats, his heart trying to fall and speed at the same time and twisting on pressure in his chest that makes it hard to breathe. “I--I have class tomorrow, I can’t--”

“When are you done with class?” Kaga growls. “You can’t be busy all day.”

Tsutsui _is_ busy all day. He has classes all morning, and three hours of tutoring to do in the evening; there will only be an hour and a half in the middle, and he was planning to eat lunch and finish his math homework then so he can go straight to bed after eating dinner in the evening.

“Eleven,” he says. “Are you--”

“Eleven’s fine,” Kaga says, cutting off Tsutsui’s question before it can entirely form. “I’ll see you at the new coffee shop downtown.” He doesn’t ask if Tsutsui likes coffee, doesn’t ask for Tsutsui’s input at all; he just runs over him, declaring how things are going to be without any indication of hesitation for Tsutsui to so much as catch his breath.

“Okay,” Tsutsui says, feeling dizzy, feeling hot, feeling his whole body tingling with self-consciousness and disbelief at once. “I’ll see you then.”

“Yeah,” Kaga says. “See you” and he’s hanging up, cutting off the hum of the phone line without waiting for a response from the other.

Tsutsui is left with the phone still in his hand, his palm sticky-hot against the plastic and his heart pounding in his chest while he stares unseeing at the corner of the wall in front of him. It takes him a moment to move, and then it’s slowly, carefully unbending his arm so he can reach and set the phone back in the receiver as if he’s going to startle himself awake if he moves too quickly. His heart is fluttering in his chest, his cheeks hot with excitement and pleasure and nerves all together; when he lifts a hand his fingers are shaking, very slightly, like leaves caught by the unexpected chill of a springtime breeze.

Tsutsui needs to get back to his homework. His assignment sheet isn’t even half-done, and with his little free time tomorrow given away he’ll need to get everything done tonight instead of finishing off the last of the assignment over his lunch. But for a long span of minutes all he can manage to do is lift his hands, and shut his eyes, and smile helplessly into the trembling warmth of his palms.

He can’t remember the last time he was this excited for a meeting.


	11. Hoping

Tsutsui hasn’t changed.

Kaga had braced himself for disappointment. It’s been years since he even spoke to the other, there’s a gap of time between them too large to be easily stepped over with a single phone call and a trip to a coffee shop. Kaga certainly feels different, feels like he’s wearing the stress of his current life in the hunch of his shoulders and the scowl on his face. But when Tsutsui comes through the door of the shop breathless and flustered Kaga feels like he’s seeing a memory come to life, and when Tsutsui pushes his glasses up and sees Kaga waiting his whole expression lights up into unmitigated joy, his mouth curving onto a smile so wholly unrestrained it reminds Kaga of nothing so much as the children they were when they first met over an elementary school lunchtime.

“Kaga!” Tsutsui veers towards Kaga’s table from the door directly, without even hesitating over going up to the front counter instead. He has a bag over his shoulder, the strap straining with the weight of the books inside, but he doesn’t appear at all fazed by it, or maybe he’s just distracted by Kaga’s presence; he doesn’t stop to set the bag down or to sit in the seat on the other side of the table, just stumbles forward over the distance between them to throw his arms around Kaga’s shoulders before the other has any chance to process what’s happening. For a moment Tsutsui is pressed close against Kaga, the frames of his glasses digging in hard against the other’s temple and his breathing gusting warm against Kaga’s cheek, and Kaga’s spine goes tense, his skin prickles with a sudden rush of self-consciousness.

“It’s great to see you,” Tsutsui says against his hair. The words are warm against Kaga’s skin and ticklish along the side of his neck. “I’m so happy to talk to you again!”

“Get the fuck off me,” Kaga tells him, his voice rough on stress he can’t level out to even the appearance of calm. He lifts a hand to push against Tsutsui’s shirt and urge him off and Tsutsui lets him go as he steps backwards, leaving Kaga with heat all across his cheeks and the too-clear impression of Tsutsui’s chest under the force of his palm. “What’s wrong with you, haven’t you grown up at all?”

“I guess not,” Tsutsui says, but he’s still smiling, glowing with delight as if being insulted by Kaga is the single greatest happiness of his life. “It’s been years, I never expected to hear from you.”

“Can’t I call a friend to catch up?” Kaga snaps. “I just wanted to know what you’ve been up to. Still living that boring, ordinary life you always wanted?”

Tsutsui huffs a laugh without any of the bright happiness in his eyes so much as dimming. “I guess so. I’m going to university most of the time and working whenever I don’t have classes.”

“That can’t leave you much free time.” Kaga reaches out for his coffee and takes a long swallow, even if the liquid is too hot to drink without scalding his tongue. “Your girlfriend can’t be too happy about that.”

Tsutsui blinks, a little of the sparkle in his gaze fading to make space for confusion. “What? I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kaga scoffs. “It’s been a while but you’re no better at lying now than you ever were.” His skin is hot, his spine prickling with tension; he takes another swallow of his coffee just for something to do with his mouth while he tries to strip the strain of unwarranted frustration from his tone. “I saw you out with someone and her kid the other day. Older women your thing, then?”

Tsutsui looks completely lost. “A woman and a… _oh_.” His cheeks flare to crimson and he ducks his chin down in an utterly futile attempt to hide his blush. “You mean Yamada-san.”

Kaga raises an eyebrow. “Guess I do. How many girlfriends do you _have_ , Tsutsui?”

“She’s _not_ \--” Tsutsui cuts himself off and reaches up to adjust his glasses needlessly. “I work for her. I’m tutoring her son in Go. We’re not...there’s nothing romantic between us.”

“You sure?” Kaga drawls. “With her husband busy at work all day and a young university student coming over every evening?”

“I’m sure,” Tsutsui says firmly, and he does lift his chin then to fix Kaga with a focused stare. He’s still blushing all over his face but his gaze is steadier than Kaga expected; it’s enough to underline his words with sincerity, and that’s enough to ease the knot of pressure in Kaga’s chest that he hasn’t been able to shake alone. “What about you?” Tsutsui asks, his cheeks still flushed with lingering self-consciousness. “Are you seeing someone?”

“Too busy,” Kaga says shortly. It’s a familiar excuse, worn-in by years of repetition every time his parents ask, and it’s far easier to offer that as a reply than try to pick apart the way his stomach twists at the idea of going to a mixer or taking a girl back to a love hotel, even just for a night. “I’ve got games and practice matches when I’m not in the middle of a tournament.”

“Right,” Tsutsui says. “I read about you sometimes in the paper. You’ve been doing well the last few years.”

“Not good enough,” Kaga snaps, more roughly than the statement requires. “You’ve been seeing all my losses, huh?”

Tsutsui’s mouth dips into a frown, his forehead creases into apology. “I’ve been really impressed,” he admits. “You make it to the semi-finals of almost every tournament.”

“And I haven’t won any,” Kaga says. “I didn’t go pro so I could do _alright_. If I don’t win it’s pointless.” Tsutsui ducks his head to fix his gaze on the table, looking as dejected as if Kaga has reached out and slapped him, and Kaga flinches, his grimace going unseen by Tsutsui.

“Whatever,” he says, and falls back to lean against his chair as Tsutsui looks back up at him. He waves a hand through the air to push aside the harsh edge on his words as much as the bitter self-deprecation that hovers around him like a weight he can’t shake free. “It’s not important anyway.” He tips his head to the side and finds the sharp edge of a grin to offer across the table. “You’re tutoring in _Go_?”

“Ah.” Tsutsui flushes again, with self-consciousness this time. “Yes. Just in the evenings, to help pay for the rent on my apartment.”

“I never would have guessed you would be trying to teach other people to play,” Kaga teases, his grin coming more easily as he sees Tsutsui’s cheeks flush darker. “Or do you just read from that book you used to like so much?”

Tsutsui ducks his head and huffs a laugh of response. “I don’t use a book. I’m just teaching young kids, nothing too serious.”

Kaga takes another sip of his coffee. “Whatever parents will pay you for, right?”

“Yeah.” Tsutsui sighs and reaches up to push his hair back from his face. “It’d be nice to tutor at a higher level; it’s hard to cover rent with what I’m making now, and I’m already cutting it close with how much time I spend working and the hours I’m in class. But even a low-level Go class can provide better training than I can.”

“Huh,” Kaga says. His heart is beating faster, his skin prickling into warmth; he blames the coffee, even if this amount of caffeine is more than typical for him to have at this hour of the morning. “You kept playing through high school?”

Tsutsui nods. “I did.” The smile he aims down at his hands is soft, almost tender; it makes Kaga’s jaw set, makes him flinch back from this visible proof of nostalgia he’s not part of, years of Tsutsui’s life he doesn’t know anything about. “It was just for fun, of course. But I do really like the game.” He lifts his chin to blink focus back across the table at Kaga; some of that softness is still lingering behind his eyes and at the curve of his mouth. It makes Kaga’s heart twist uncomfortably in his chest. “I always loved playing against you in elementary school.”

“You were always a pain to play against,” Kaga informs him. “You were too damn slow, Go should be played faster than that.” Tsutsui smiles himself into a laugh, admission to Kaga’s point that does nothing to diminish the bright behind his eyes, and Kaga looks down into his cup of coffee again, frowning as if the expression will give him the mental support he needs to resist the flutter of his heartbeat rushing too-fast on adrenaline. “You’re having trouble paying rent? Are you living in the really nice part of town or something?”

“Ah.” Tsutsui shakes his head, rejection coming so immediately Kaga doesn’t need to wait for the “No,” that follows to confirm the negation. “I’m trying to support myself as much as possible, but it’s hard to find a place to live that’s within my budget.” He shrugs and ducks his head in the passive surrender so familiar to Kaga from elementary and middle school. “I guess it’ll get easier after I graduate, but that’s still a couple years off.”

“I know what you mean,” Kaga says. Tsutsui looks up at him, his mouth curving on appreciation for the minimal sympathy offered by Kaga’s words, and Kaga’s whole body goes as warm as if he’s stepped into sunlight, as if the heat that has so long been dormant in his veins is rising to remind him what it feels like to be truly enthusiastic about something again. “My dad bitches about my rent every month he pays it. If I don’t start winning tournaments soon I’m going to have to get a roommate or something.”

“I keep thinking about that myself,” Tsutsui admits. “Everyone I know is still living with their parents or with some friends already, though, I don’t know anyone else who’s looking to share an apartment.”

Kaga looks at Tsutsui from across the table. For a moment Tsutsui’s head stays bowed, his mouth dipping into a frown of resignation as he stares at his hands like he didn’t just hear the implication of his words. Kaga can see the moment realization hits, can see the way Tsutsui’s shoulders tense before he lifts his head to blink wide-eyed at Kaga.

“I mean,” he says, his cheeks flushing back to self-consciousness as he tries to backtrack himself out of the unstated suggestion. “Not that you need to--if you want to room with someone who plays shogi too, or in a different part of town, I wouldn’t--”

“Why would I want to share a room with my competition?” Kaga asks, speaking loud enough to cut off the stammering rush of Tsutsui’s apologetic words. “If I’m going to have a roommate I’d rather it be someone I know already, anyway.”

Tsutsui closes his mouth and blinks once. “Oh.” He sounds a little startled, looks more so. “So you. Do you want…?”

Kaga shrugs hard. “Sure,” he says, and takes another overlarge swallow from the edge of his coffee cup. “If you’re a pain in the ass I’ll just move out on my own again anyway.”

Tsutsui colors crimson all across his cheeks and immediately begins assuring Kaga that he’s a good roommate, that he’ll clean up after himself and if he’s doing anything wrong all Kaga has to do is tell him so, as if Kaga didn’t know all of this already, as if he wouldn’t put up with far worse than whatever Tsutsui has to offer for the sake of having the support of someone else’s company when he comes home at the end of yet another lost tournament or a marathon practice session. He lets Tsutsui talk, and huffs into his coffee by way of response, and keeps the shivering weight of satisfaction along his spine safely unvoiced inside his chest.

He doesn’t want to admit to Tsutsui how badly he was hoping for exactly this.


	12. Interrupt

Living with Kaga is _awful_.

Tsutsui isn’t sure how the other managed to survive on his own for as many years as he has. Maybe he just existed in a level of discomfort and filth that makes Tsutsui shudder to think of; Tsutsui hopes, sometimes, that is the case, only because the alternative is that he has let all the effort he put into his home situation go as soon as there was someone else there to do it for him, and that makes Tsutsui feel a little like a mother and more like a maid and he’s fond of neither sensation. It’s frustrating to be constantly washing all the dishes for the both of them, irritating to be the only one who ever makes an attempt at cleaning the bathroom or the kitchen, and Tsutsui doesn’t have much choice if he wants to live in some modicum of cleanliness but that doesn’t stop the slow-building frustration along his spine every time Kaga opens another beer instead of offering to help bring in the laundry. It doesn’t take Tsutsui that much longer to clean up after two people than just himself -- the basic chores of the apartment have to be done anyway, and the increase in volume for dishes and clothes and food isn’t enough to add much time -- but it _is_ irritating to have to track down the plates and cups Kaga leaves in his room, or the bathroom, or the living room, instead of in the sink where it would at least be easy to find them. Tsutsui has gotten in the habit of checking the bathroom counter for glasses and the living room table for napkins and missing silverware; but he’s sure, now, that they’re running short on plates, and after going over the other locations as thoroughly as he can think there’s only one place left they can be.

His knock against Kaga’s bedroom door is tentative at first. “Kaga?” Tsutsui cringes at what feels like the too-loud sound of his own voice in the enclosed hallway; but there’s no response from inside, not even the growl he gets when he wakes Kaga from a nap or some particularly interesting shogi game he’s reviewing. “Kaga, do you have any dishes in there?” Still no response. Tsutsui wonders if Kaga’s home at all; but when he takes a step back to glance towards the front door the other’s keys are still in the corner of the table by the door where he last left them, his shoes are still toppled over on themselves in the entryway. Tsutsui frowns and knocks again. “Are you there, Kaga?”

There’s a rustle of movement, a muted “ _Fuck_ ”; at least that answers the question of whether Kaga is present or not. Tsutsui hesitates, uncertain if he should call out again now that he has Kaga’s attention; but there’s sound from inside the room, the low thud of something hitting the floor and a murmur of unintelligible irritation, so he subsides and waits for Kaga to open the door. It takes a few minutes, longer than Tsutsui expected; and then the door comes open all at once, with no warning, and Kaga is scowling down at him and all the air leaves Tsutsui’s lungs at once.

It’s not because of the scowl. Kaga is angry most of the time that Tsutsui can see, and the more when Tsutsui is reminding him about basic consideration in a shared space; that alone would barely be enough for Tsutsui to notice at all, much less to win any kind of a reaction from him. But Kaga is wearing a scowl, and boxers, and absolutely nothing else, and for a moment everything that had been in Tsutsui’s head evaporates to a moment of helpless appreciation of the tanned skin on display in front of him.

“What do you want?” Kaga growls at him. He leans into his hold against the door; the movement flexes across his shoulder, presses his collarbone taut against the skin and lifts the curve of his bicep to clarity.

“Uh,” Tsutsui says. His skin is prickling with self-consciousness. He’s pretty sure he’s starting to blush. “I. We don’t have any clean plates.”

Kaga raises an eyebrow. “Okay.”

“I wanted--” Tsutsui’s attention keeps sliding away from Kaga’s face and down to his thighs, to the shadow of dark hair against the other’s calves that goes thinner and lighter the higher up Tsutsui’s gaze goes. He should stop staring at Kaga’s boxers. “Do you have any dishes in here?”

“I dunno,” Kaga says. “Hang on.” And he’s turning away, leaving the door open behind him and Tsutsui struggling for breath as quietly as he can manage. Kaga’s hair is longer than it used to be, he thinks; the dark fall of it is brushing the other’s shoulders, now, some strands catching at the damp of sweat clinging at the line of Kaga’s spine. The whole of Kaga’s back shifts as he reaches to collect a plate, muscle shifting under skin with easy grace, and Tsutsui can feel himself going harder inside his jeans, can feel each beat of his heart swelling his cock hot against the inside of his clothes. He reaches down while Kaga’s back is turned, tugging hard against the waistband of his pants in a mostly-futile attempt to hide his arousal before the other can notice, but Kaga’s turning back around and he doesn’t have time for more, barely has time to snatch his hand away from his clothes and attempt a stupendous failure of an appearance of casual patience.

“Here,” Kaga says, shoving a stack of plates and silverware at Tsutsui. “That what you wanted?”

“Ah,” Tsutsui manages, sounding only half-strangled on the heat thudding against his chest. His hands are shaking when he takes the dishes from Kaga. “Yes. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to be so jumpy about my room,” Kaga informs him, leaning against the edge of the doorframe and crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s not like the door is locked, you can just come in if you want to check for plates or something.”

“Oh,” Tsutsui says. His heart is pounding so hard he can’t even think through the protest that Kaga ought to bring his dishes in to the kitchen himself, that if Tsutsui is to do all the chores the least Kaga can do is offer some minimal effort to clean up after himself. Just at the moment Kaga’s doorway seems like an uncrossable barrier, stepping into the other’s room seems like an act of such immediate intimacy it makes Tsutsui blush harder even than he was before. “It’s your room, I don’t want to interrupt.”

“What’s there to interrupt?” Kaga asks. “It’s not like you’ll catch me doing anything worse than jerking off.”

Tsutsui’s entire body goes blisteringly hot. His face is burning, his cheeks radiant as if with sunlight caught under his skin; embarrassment tenses against his spine, self-consciousness flares to strain in his grip on the plates, and desire aches in his cock, flushing him so painfully hard against his jeans it takes everything he has to not lower the plates in a completely transparent attempt to cover how hot the idea of Kaga touching himself makes him.

“Jesus,” Kaga groans, pushing a hand through his hair to shove it back from his face. “You’re such a prude, Tsutsui.” He waves a hand through the air, dismissing Tsutsui’s presence as he rolls his eyes. “Go wash the dishes or whatever else it is you virgins do to take the edge off.” He’s grinning, amusement sharp at his mouth and dark in his eyes, and Tsutsui has to move, has to turn away and retreat back down the hall before his knees give out from under him. He thinks he hears Kaga laugh, a quick burst of sound behind him, but the door shuts again before Tsutsui can glance back, and after a moment of hesitation he continues on to the kitchen.

He does wash the dishes. He washes them very carefully, and very thoroughly, and with his attention completely fixed on what he’s doing and not at all on what Kaga was or is doing to leave him half-dressed and warmed over with sweat along the curve of his spine. It takes him almost a half hour to get everything washed and dried and put away, and the delay has absolutely no effect at diminishing the heat pressing hard against the inside of his jeans. Tsutsui stands in the kitchen for some minutes after the dishes are done, thinking about knocking on Kaga’s door, thinking about locking himself in his own room, thinking about getting caught by Kaga returning the interruption Tsutsui offered; and then he sighs himself into resignation, and goes to the bathroom to take the coldest shower he can stand.

The cold eases the heat under his skin, and after long enough forces the arousal from his veins. The memory of tan shoulders and bare thighs are, unfortunately, not so quick to dissolve.


	13. Guaranteed

Kaga’s at the kitchen table when Tsutsui gets home.

“I’m back,” Tsutsui calls, so softly the words are nearly lost to the sound of the door swinging shut in his wake.

“Welcome home,” Kaga shouts back, more out of habit than with any real thought. He’s staring at the beer bottle in his hands, framing his palms around the condensation-cool of the glass without thinking about that either; the light of the setting sun coming through the window catches to patterns against the dark of the bottle and fractures into jagged illumination against the far edge of the table. Kaga can hear Tsutsui coming down the hallway, can hear each of the other’s steps falling as carefully as if this isn’t his own home, or as if Kaga could possibly be doing something that would be interrupted by the other’s footfalls. Usually Kaga finds this amusing, occasionally it’s irritating; today he just notices it, distantly, like the sound of rain against a roof high overhead. He doesn’t look away from the bottle in his hands.

“Have you eaten yet?” Tsutsui asks as he comes down the hallway towards where Kaga is sitting at the table. “I was thinking about…” His voice trails off in time with his footsteps as he draws into eyeshot and sees Kaga at the table with the half-empty bottle of beer in his hands and his focus on the shift of his fingers against the glass. Kaga can feel the weight of Tsutsui’s eyes on him, can feel the shiver of familiar electricity slide down the back of his neck and light his skin to uncomfortable heat under the burden of his clothes; but even that is distant, for once, like something seen on a television screen rather than an experience belonging to him in reality.

“No,” Kaga says in answer to the question. His voice sounds odd in his ears. “I haven’t eaten.”

“Oh.” Tsutsui sounds worried. It’s easier to pull apart the emotion in his voice than it is for Kaga to taste the feelings on his own; right now Tsutsui’s concerned, uncertainty rising into the beginnings of panic that Kaga doesn’t have to look to know is printed clear across the other’s face. “Are you hungry?”

“Sure.” Kaga takes a breath, feels the motion of it drag in the back of his throat and fill his lungs. “Tsutsui.”

There’s a pause, longer than it should be, like Tsutsui is trying to make a guess as to Kaga’s next words. “Yes?”

Kaga exhales hard, hard enough that the wind of it rustles the peeled-off label of his bottle against the table. “I had a semi-finals game today.”

The room goes very, very still for a moment. Tsutsui doesn’t move; for a moment Kaga thinks the other might be holding his breath. Kaga waits, measuring out time by the rhythm of his heart pounding in his chest; and then Tsutsui takes a breath, and says “Did--” and Kaga speaks over him at once, before the other can finish forming whatever question he was going to offer.

“I won.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, all at once: a rush of breath, a gasp of “ _Kaga_ ,” and when Kaga lifts his head to look up Tsutsui has both hands clapped over his mouth and his eyes wide and going liquid with the threat of tears behind his glasses.

“Oh my god,” Kaga says, his voice still feeling weird and echoey inside his head. “It’s nothing to _cry_ about.”

“I know,” Tsutsui says from behind the weight of his hands. His eyes are enormous, all but glowing with the damp of emotion; Kaga thinks he might be able to pick out flecks of green from the dark shadow of them if he looks long enough. He doesn’t. He looks back to his bottle, blinks at the refracted light against the table while Tsutsui gasps through an inhale weighted with enough emotion for the both of them. “I’m just so happy for you. Congratulations, Kaga.”

“Yeah,” Kaga says, and then there’s movement in his periphery, the action of Tsutsui throwing himself forward just as Kaga turns reflexively to meet his action. Arms catch around Kaga’s neck, Tsutsui’s face presses hard at his shoulder, and Tsutsui is dropping to his knees alongside the other’s chair, taking an enormous breath of happiness hard against the front of Kaga’s shirt as he steadies his hold around the other’s neck. He’s warm to the touch, leaning in heavy against Kaga’s chest, and Kaga moves right away, reflex and the warm purr of alcohol in his veins making the action of his arm easy as he lifts it to catch hard around Tsutsui’s waist. He pulls harder than he means to, his arm tensing around the other’s body to drag Tsutsui in close against him, and he can hear the way Tsutsui’s breathing rushes out of him in a gasp at the force, but Tsutsui doesn’t complain, and Kaga doesn’t let him go.

“Good job,” Tsutsui says into his shoulder. The words are hot at Kaga’s skin. “I’m so, so proud of you.”

“Shut up, I haven’t won the finals yet,” Kaga says, but he’s starting to smile, he can feel the shock-frozen emotion inside his chest melting and spilling across his expression under the warmth of Tsutsui’s hold on him. He has the advantage of height by nearly an inch, with their current positions; when he turns his head in towards Tsutsui his mouth is on level with the other’s ear, his lips nearly brush Tsutsui’s skin when he speaks. “You finally going to celebrate with me tonight?”

Kaga can feel Tsutsui go tense against him, can feel the tremor of uncertainty that runs through the other’s shoulders under his hold. “What--”

“You never drink with me,” Kaga says without letting Tsutsui go and without turning his head away from the other’s ear. Tsutsui’s fingers tighten against the back of his neck, Tsutsui’s breathing rushes to fire at his shoulder, but Kaga can feel his heart racing in his chest on delayed-reaction adrenaline, as if the sight of Tsutsui’s excitement has finally made his victory real in a way it wasn’t before, and the heat coursing through him is roaring into a heady self-confidence that tells him he could do anything, have anything, if he just reaches out to claim it. “Come on, Tsutsui, it’s no fun drinking by myself.”

Kaga can hear the way Tsutsui takes a breath at his shoulder, can feel the brief, involuntary tug of the other’s arm around his neck. “I,” he says, and for a moment Kaga thinks he’s going to capitulate, that he’s going to surrender to Kaga’s suggestion as easily as he did to his hold. But then he takes a breath, and says “I don’t like beer,” and all the apology lacing his tone isn’t enough to take off the edge of rejection under it.

Kaga lets his hold go and reaches up to shove roughly at Tsutsui’s shoulder instead before the other has yet unwound his arms from around Kaga’s neck. Tsutsui topples backwards, his hold giving way abruptly to the force of Kaga’s motion as he falls to sit heavily on the floor and blink shock up at Kaga from behind the weight of his glasses.

“You sound like a kid,” Kaga tells him, straightening in his chair and reaching for his half-empty bottle to punctuate with a pointed swallow. His skin is hot everywhere Tsutsui touched him; he gulps an overlarge mouthful of beer just to feel the bitter of the taste burn at the back of his throat and give him a different reason for the tremor running under his skin than the obvious one. “I bet you don’t even drink coffee.”

“I do,” Tsutsui says without trying to get up from the floor. He looks faintly confused, sounds a little bit hurt; Kaga’s chest knots unpleasantly, as if his heart is trying to turn itself over against his ribcage. He takes another swallow of his beer. “I drink alcohol, sometimes, too.”

“Sure,” Kaga scoffs. “Girly drinks in pink glasses, right?”

Tsutsui’s forehead creases. “I like sake,” he says, his mouth steadying from the tremble of uncertainty it had and into something a little closer to a frown. “I just don’t find beer to my taste.”

“‘To your taste,’” Kaga repeats, trying to make a mockery of the phrasing, but it falls short on the pressure in his chest and he can’t give it the sharp edge he wants. There’s a moment of silence; then Kaga looks back to his bottle and digs his fingernail in roughly against a strip of paper still clinging to adhesive along the outside curve.

“Fine,” he says, like he’s granting some major concession and not just foregoing the company of a similarly intoxicated Tsutsui for the evening. “Next time. When I win my tournament.” His chest is aching, his heart struggling for an ordinary rhythm against the pressure crushing down on him; the mouthful of beer he swallows does nothing to ease the tension in his throat. “I’ll buy you a whole bottle of sake. I’ll even drink it with you.” He looks back to Tsutsui, still sitting on the floor and staring up at him with wide eyes. His frown is gone, his lips soft and barely parted; he looks stunned, as if Kaga has just promised to give him the world instead of half a bottle of alcohol. Kaga lets his hold on his beer bottle go and reaches out to extend a hand across the distance between he and Tsutsui. “Deal?”

Tsutsui blinks and looks down at Kaga’s hand for a moment. Then he sits up straighter, reaches to push his glasses up his nose, and stretches out to close his fingers tight around Kaga’s hand.

“Yes,” he says, and when he looks up his eyes catch flecks of green out of the light illuminating them. “I promise.”

Kaga’s never won a shogi tournament before. Over the last few months he’s resigned himself to loss, has stopped even really feeling disappointed when he’s knocked out a few rounds from true victory over his competitors. It’s all to be expected, he’s told himself, losing is inevitable if he doesn’t have the skill for the game he needs to win.

He doesn’t need skill for this tournament. This time, he’s certain, his motivation to win is enough to carry him clear through the finals on willpower alone.


	14. Rushed

“C’mon,” Kaga insists from the other side of the table, where he’s leaning hard against the support of his elbow as he lifts his beer to his lips again. “Don’t tell me you’re done _already_.”

“I think I’ve had enough,” Tsutsui says again, not for the first time. His sake cup is full -- Kaga has been seeing to that for the last few hours -- but he doesn’t reach for it, isn’t sure he can trust his unsteady grip or the sway of the room to bring the liquid to his mouth unspilt. “Really, I’m. I won’t be able to stand if I have any more.”

“It’s not a party until you’re on the floor,” Kaga tells him, upending the bottle to catch the last few drops of beer on his tongue. “I thought you would have more stamina than this. Or do you just not want to celebrate with me?”

“I do,” Tsutsui says, frowning with the strain of attention necessary to see the holes in the logic of Kaga’s slurred-over speech. “I _am_ celebrating with you. I’m glad you won.”

“I did great,” Kaga says. “I’ve never won a professional shogi tournament before.”

“I know.” Tsutsui looks up from his cup of sake, his face breaking into a helpless smile like it has every time Kaga mentions this fact. “I’m so happy for you.”

“Yeah,” Kaga says, grinning with vicious satisfaction pressing against the curve of his mouth. His fingers tighten against the empty bottle and twist the glass against his hold, but he doesn’t look at his hand; he’s staring at Tsutsui instead, turning the full force of his attention to the other. “You like it when I win, don’t you?”

Tsutsui laughs. “Of course,” he admits without any hesitation. “I’m always happy when you’re happy.”

“Yeah,” Kaga says again. He glances at the bottle, frowns himself into focus as he digs a thumbnail under the edge of the label to peel an inch of it free of the shine of the bottle. “I won for you, you know.” His gaze cuts back up to catch at Tsutsui’s face. “I told you I would.”

There’s a shiver of heat that runs down Tsutsui’s spine, a breath of electricity unfolding out into his veins as if Kaga’s words carry more weight than they actually do, as if the implication under them is intentional and not an intoxicated misphrasing of the other’s meaning. “Yes,” he agrees, trying to keep his voice level in the back of his throat, trying to keep his gaze focused on Kaga’s eyes instead of dipping down to cling to the part of the other’s lips instead. “I knew you would, you’re good enough to--”

“No,” Kaga cuts him off, his voice coming hard and sharp, and he shoves the bottle away across the table with enough force that it topples to the side and rolls off the edge. Tsutsui startles at the sound, reaches out involuntarily to catch the bottle as it falls, but his fingers come up short and the bottle rattles to the floor, shedding a few drops of liquid as it lands. Tsutsui frowns at the spill, starts to lean over to return the bottle to upright, but Kaga’s hand comes out to close hard at his arm, the other’s grip so tight Tsutsui doesn’t even think to try to pull free, and when he looks back up Kaga’s staring at him with as much focus as if the beer bottle never existed at all.

“You’re not _listening_ ,” Kaga informs Tsutsui, his voice purring over irritation in the back of his throat to match the frown dragging at the corners of his mouth. Tsutsui _is_ listening now; but Kaga’s fingers still tighten on his arm, Kaga’s hold still shakes roughly at him to jolt him against the edge of the table. It hurts, both the bruising strength of Kaga’s too-tight hold and the impact with the lip of the table in front of him, but Tsutsui has gone breathless with sudden, startled adrenaline and lacks even the air to give voice to the ache of pain running under his skin.

“I didn’t win ‘cause I was so much better,” Kaga says. When he blinks his lashes fall heavy over his eyes, blurring his vision out-of-focus before he visibly struggles himself back into it, but his mouth is set, the frown of intensity at his lips unwavering. He smells like the beer he’s been drinking, and his hold is too tight on Tsutsui’s arm, and Tsutsui’s heart is pounding frantic against the inside of his chest and he can’t figure out how to calm it. “I won ‘cause I wanted to.” He frowns harder, swallows like he’s looking for moisture for his mouth. “For you. I told you I was going to.”

“Yes,” Tsutsui agrees. He doesn’t try to wrench free of Kaga’s hold.

“You like it,” Kaga tells him, and for a brief, heartstopping moment Tsutsui doesn’t know what Kaga’s referring to, feels like the other has read the rush of his heartbeat from the grip he has on Tsutsui’s arm, has picked apart the flush of rising heat from the haze of intoxication coloring Tsutsui’s cheeks to pink. Tsutsui’s eyes go wide, his breathing catches on pointless denial, and Kaga continues. “You like it when I win.” He lifts his other hand from the table without easing the hold of his first and stretches out to catch his fingers around the back of Tsutsui’s neck; his grip tangles into the other’s hair, his palm shoves roughly against the back of Tsutsui’s head, and all Tsutsui’s blood is going to fire, he feels like he’s melting forward in helpless surrender to whatever it is Kaga wants to do to him. “Don’t you?”

“Oh,” Tsutsui says, his voice breaking in his throat like it hasn’t since he was in middle school, since the time when Kaga smiled more than he frowned and the heat of desire was a flickering heat in his chest instead of a burden weighing hard against his shoulders. “Yes.” He’s not quite sure what he’s agreeing to, not entirely clear what Kaga is asking; he thinks he’d agree to anything, with Kaga’s hands so tight against him and Kaga’s eyes so dark with focus on his face.

“I knew you did,” Kaga tells him, his voice purring into the low hum of a growl in the back of his throat. “You always liked that best in middle school, too, didn’t you?” His fingers in Tsutsui’s hair tighten, his touch digs in hard against the back of the other’s head; Tsutsui can’t find enough air for his lungs in the space between his mouth and Kaga’s. “You liked me winning more than you liked winning yourself.” He leans in farther over the table, his hands dragging Tsutsui in closer too; the edge of the table catches at Tsutsui’s ribcage, presses against the effort of breathing in his lungs, but he doesn’t try to pull himself free, just lets Kaga’s hold drag him half across the span of the table. He feels dizzy, light-headed, like the effect of the alcohol in his veins is surging suddenly sharp and irresistible under the pull of Kaga’s hands. “You liked me _beating_ you.”

“What?” Tsutsui manages. His voice is fluttering like wings in the back of his throat, struggling for traction against the too-thin air at his lips. Kaga is still watching him, his eyes half-lidded into consideration that runs straight down Tsutsui’s spine like an open flame. “Kaga?”

“You liked me,” Kaga tells him, and then his hand at Tsutsui’s head pulls, and Tsutsui topples forward and into the crush of Kaga’s mouth against his. The impact is rough, as immediately bruising as the tension of the other’s hold digging in hard against Tsutsui’s arm; there’s teeth at Tsutsui’s lip, a vicious demand for friction that catches and tears before Kaga is bracing Tsutsui in place and turning his head to force his tongue past the startled part of the other’s lips. There’s bitter on Tsutsui’s tongue, the sour bite of beer sliding into his mouth on the force of Kaga licking past his lips, and then his startled-slow brain catches up to the reality of this, of Kaga _kissing_ him, and Tsutsui can hear himself make a tiny, startled whine of sound in the back of his throat as the rush of waiting heat catches up to the moment. He’s shutting his eyes, is lifting a hand out towards Kaga’s arm; and Kaga pulls him sideways, hard, the force so sudden and so sharp that Tsutsui is falling before he realizes he’s lost his balance. The floor is waiting for him, his impact hard enough that it jolts them both out of the friction of the kiss, and Kaga’s following him down, hissing irritation as he falls over Tsutsui as if the brief gap of time is a personal affront.

“Fuck,” he growls, harsh consonants tearing at Tsutsui’s mouth as he tries to gasp for air suddenly absent from the overheated world. “Fuck you, Tsutsui, you’re so.” There’s no finish to the sentence, nothing but the crush of Kaga’s mouth against Tsutsui’s again; Tsutsui can barely hold to the structure of language at all, with Kaga shoving him down against the floor and bruising against his mouth like he’s trying to crush the mark of his affection indelibly under the other’s skin. Kaga bites at his lip again, licks far into Tsutsui’s mouth like he’s trying to taste the sweet of the sake off the back of the other’s tongue, and then he pulls away again, pressing a rough kiss to Tsutsui’s cheek before dropping down to lick hard just under the curve of his ear. Kaga’s mouth is wet and leaves the shivering cold of damp in its wake, but Tsutsui feels like he’s on fire, like all his blood is trying to turn to steam and escape his veins entirely. He’s hard inside his jeans, his cock is surging to heat in time with the beat of his heart, but Kaga is too, Kaga is grinding himself down against Tsutsui like he’s trying to press the other straight through the floor and Tsutsui can’t remember how to catch his breath with Kaga so close against him.

“Kaga,” he says, a name with no meaning beyond the sound of the syllables, carrying no force except the desperate groan in the back of his throat that spills to thrum against Kaga’s lips pressing to heat at the dip of his collarbones. Tsutsui gets a hand up, gets his fingers into Kaga’s hair, and Kaga makes a low sound of frustration at his skin and lets his hold on Tsutsui’s arm go to reach down instead.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he snaps again, irritation grinding vicious in his throat, “move your _damn_ knees, Tsutsui.” Tsutsui doesn’t have a chance to obey, even if he could figure out what Kaga meant; the other is pushing at his leg even as he speaks, forcing Tsutsui’s knees wider as he shoves his leg into the space between the other’s. Kaga shifts, presses himself closer, and then his hips are fitting between Tsutsui’s knees, the weight of his body forcing Tsutsui’s legs open at an uncomfortable angle. Tsutsui can feel the ache running up the inside of his thighs, can feel the beginnings of protest at the unfamiliar position; but Kaga is growling satisfaction, is closing his fingers at Tsutsui’s waist and grinding forward and down, and when the friction of his body catches to press hard against Tsutsui’s hips Tsutsui’s protests evaporate at once and give way to a convulsive jerk of pleasure to match the sudden startled moan that breaks free from his throat.

“Yeah,” Kaga says, sounding overheated and radiant and pleased, “yeah, fuck, Tsutsui” and he does it again, rocking his hips forward like he’s trying to press them skin-to-skin through the too-thick barrier of denim between them. The motion catches Tsutsui’s jeans against the flush of his cock and drags rough friction against his skin, but the whimper of heat in his throat is entirely drowned out by the growl of satisfaction in Kaga’s, the sound so loud Tsutsui can feel it run down his spine like an electrical charge.

“Fuck,” Kaga spits, and he’s dragging his hand free of Tsutsui’s hair, bracing his palm flat on the ground so he can push himself up and off the other. His hair is a mess under the drag of Tsutsui’s fingers, his eyes blown so dark Tsutsui can’t make out any color in them; he’s looking at Tsutsui’s body, at the shift of breathing in the other’s chest and the spread of Tsutsui’s knees around his hips rather than up to meet the weight of the other’s gaze. Tsutsui can see Kaga’s throat tense on a groan as his attention drags down to the taut front of Tsutsui’s jeans, can see his teeth flicker bright behind an overheated smile as he frees Tsutsui’s hip and reaches for his jeans instead.

“You want me,” Kaga says, like this is any kind of a revelation, or maybe just for the satisfaction of feeling the words rolling across his tongue. Tsutsui opens his mouth to reply, to gasp some pointless acquiescence to this statement, and Kaga’s palm presses down against him, the weight of the other’s touch grinding heat sharp and aching up the whole of his spine. Tsutsui jerks against the floor, his fingers tensing involuntarily on Kaga’s hair, and Kaga makes a low sound of appreciation and curls his fingers in tighter like he’s trying to close his hand on Tsutsui right through the denim.

“Did you dream about me?” Kaga asks. His fingers drag, the friction blinding Tsutsui with an excess of heat, and Tsutsui shudders through his whole body like Kaga’s touch is electrifying him, is turning him into something bright and glowing with more force than he would ever be able to muster alone. “Did you fantasize about me touching you?” His hand slides away, the friction easing enough for Tsutsui to gasp a desperate lungful of air before Kaga’s hand tightens at his hip, before Kaga’s hold braces him still against another rough press of the other’s body against his. “Did you think about me fucking you?”

“Oh,” Tsutsui pants, his heart racing, his breathing stalling. “Kaga.”

“ _Tell me_ ,” Kaga growls at him, and his words are darkness, bitter as the clinging taste of his beer caught against the inside of Tsutsui’s mouth. “Tsutsui, tell me.”

“Oh god,” Tsutsui moans. “Yes, Kaga, yes, I did.”

“Yeah,” Kaga says, sounding more satisfied than surprised. “Tell me.” His fingers unwind from Tsutsui’s hip, his knees shift wider; Tsutsui whimpers in the back of his throat but Kaga’s looking down instead of at his face, is fumbling with the front of his jeans one-handed.

“What?” Tsutsui gasps. “You want...what?”

“Talk,” Kaga demands. His jeans come open for the force of his fingers, he pushes his clothes roughly aside, and then he’s closing his hand around the heat of his cock, is moving to stroke over himself before Tsutsui even has a chance to make sense of what’s happening. “Tell me what you thought about me doing to you.”

“Oh,” Tsutsui says, breathless and overwhelmed and still dizzy with the alcohol as much as with the arousal flaring sunbright into his veins. Fantasies offer themselves to his mind, the outlines of imagination familiar with repetition forming themselves on the heat lancing up his spine; but his tongue stalls, his voice dying to the sudden tension of self-conscious embarrassment, as if the addition of speech will somehow give him away more thoroughly than the heat of his cock under Kaga’s too-rough touch a moment before. Kaga’s head is ducked, his breathing catching faster as he finds a rushed rhythm to the pull of his hand; and then he lifts his chin, his eyes sliding back into focus on Tsutsui’s face, and Tsutsui gasps a choking inhale and starts to speak as if the weight of Kaga’s gaze was a spoken command.

“I thought about you touching me,” he says, starting simple, backtracking over years of increasingly detailed fantasy to the first one, to the one still clear and soft with overuse against the backdrop of tight-shut eyes. “About your hands on me and you--”

“God,” Kaga interrupts him. “Is that seriously the best you could come up with?” His mouth is dragging on a mocking grin, his expression tense with heat, but his eyes are still soft, strangely dark and intent on Tsutsui’s features. “I guess I shouldn’t expect anything better from a virgin.”

“Not just that,” Tsutsui says, his voice dipping low on hurt and defensiveness at the same time. “I thought--I thought about you meeting me in a love hotel, somewhere downtown after one of your games.”

Kaga’s eyelashes flutter. “Yeah?”

Tsutsui nods. “Yes.” He lets his hold on Kaga’s hair go to reach for the front of his own jeans and work the button loose of the denim; Kaga glances down, huffs a laugh of amusement, but he doesn’t move to stop Tsutsui, and Tsutsui’s too radiantly hot to pause for the flicker of self-consciousness that hits him as he unfastens his jeans so he can work his hand inside the fabric. “I used to think about running into you after graduation and you taking me out for drinks and--”

“And fucking you until you screamed,” Kaga purrs, finishing the sentence with so much heat that Tsutsui’s cheeks go scarlet with flame even as his cock twitches under the glancing weight of his touch. “Is that right?”

Tsutsui’s heart races, his breathing hitches. Under his fingers his cock is aching, the head slick to the touch; everything feels surreal, like this must be the most vivid dream he’s ever had, like maybe he’s fallen asleep over the table and drifted into oddly clear alcohol-infused hallucinations. His cheeks are burning with heat, the air of the room is chill against his hips; his cock is free of his pants, waiting the catch of his fingers, and over him Kaga is breathing hard, is panting through inhales as he jerks over himself like one of Tsutsui’s fantasies come to life.

“Yes,” Tsutsui says, and closes his fingers around himself as his blood blossoms into steam, as Kaga groans incoherent heat over him. “That’s right.” His heart is pounding doubletime in his chest, his breathing burning with every inhale as if the air itself has caught the tang of alcohol from the half-full cup of sake still on the table; even Tsutsui’s embarrassment feels far-off, distant, like something seen on the horizon to be dealt with in some unimportant future. He’s stroking over himself hard, pressing his fingers closer against his skin with some half-formed intent of increasing the sensation to its usual immediacy instead of the strange distance that is coming with it now; but Kaga’s gasping hard, Kaga’s ducking his head down to watch his own hand or Tsutsui’s, Tsutsui isn’t sure which, and when he speaks it’s so low Tsutsui isn’t sure he’s meant to hear, isn’t certain Kaga really processes that he’s still listening at all.

“I’ve wanted you for years,” Kaga growls, his hand dragging over himself with rough haste that all but keeps Tsutsui from even seeing the dark flush on the other’s cock. His shoulder is straining, his position tense with effort, but he doesn’t move to relax, and Tsutsui doesn’t reach out and run the risk of breaking whatever insanity has brought them both to this moment together. “Just like this.” His hips buck forward, a half-inch of movement that comes with a hiss in the back of his throat; when Tsutsui looks up at him Kaga’s cheeks are flushed, his eyes half-lidded into such shadowed heat Tsutsui’s not sure Kaga’s really seeing him at all anymore, not sure if Kaga’s seeing anything except the culmination of too many fantasies layered atop each other to leave space for reality. “Fuck, Tsutsui, tell me you want it.”

“I want it,” Tsutsui says immediately, not entirely clear on what _it_ is but ready to beg anyway, ready to catch the words Kaga gives him on his tongue and echo them back into whatever encouragement Kaga needs to keep doing what he’s doing. “I want you.”

“Yeah,” Kaga says, the words hissing past the set of his jaw and the edge of his clenched teeth. “You want my cock.”

Tsutsui’s face flames to red, his cheeks burn into fire; but it’s distant, it’s far-off, it’s someone else’s skin going so hot at the feel of unspoken words in his chest. “I--” he starts, stops; and then, in a rush, drawn out of him by the friction of his hand closed tight around himself, “I want your cock.”

“ _God_ ,” Kaga groans, his hips bucking forward against his hand again. There’s slick at the head of his cock, Tsutsui can see the liquid catch the light when Kaga’s hand shifts; the other’s strokes are going frantic, are speeding past the point of comfort and into desperation. “Do you want me to come on you, Tsutsui?”

Tsutsui takes a breath, feels his chest tightening on shock even as his cock jerks in his hold, as the heat in his stomach twists and catches to a surge of desire at the mental image Kaga’s words sketch out. “Kaga--” he starts, and Kaga hisses over him, groans “ _Fuck_ ” sharp in the back of his throat, and jerks into orgasm over Tsutsui’s stomach. He comes over Tsutsui’s shirt, the sticky liquid spilling wet and hot across the other’s fingers, and Tsutsui gasps with startled heat as Kaga’s shoulders sag, as the tension drains out of his face to leave the slack heat of satisfaction in its wake. His hips are rocking forward, jolting through tiny, involuntary shudders of relief as the last aftershocks run through him, and Tsutsui is moving faster, his strokes made sticky by Kaga spilling over his fingers and his heart pounding too hard for him to care. Kaga takes a breath, deep enough for Tsutsui to hear it shuddering through the whole span of the other’s chest, and Tsustui comes in a rush before he’s quite ready to, striping over the mess Kaga has already made of him. His vision blurs to white, his spine arches through the rush of heat; and in the distance Kaga purrs over a laugh, something low and half-mocking in the back of his throat as Tsutsui shivers through the rush of sensation in his veins.

“I knew you wanted it,” Kaga says. There’s a shift of movement, action in Tsutsui’s periphery while he’s still trying to blink his vision back into focus, and then wet at his mouth, the crush of Kaga’s lips hard against his for a moment of pressure that steals Tsutsui’s breathing. Kaga’s hand lands in Tsutsui’s hair, sticky fingers catching against the other’s head to hold him steady as he opens his mouth and licks in far against the back of Tsutsui’s tongue; Tsutsui is still whimpering when Kaga pulls away, his skin prickling with aftershocks and his lips numb with friction.

“Next time I’ll fuck you for real,” Kaga tells him, growling the words to heat over Tsutsui’s parted lips under his. “I’ll make you come so hard you can’t see straight.” And he’s moving away, his fingers drawing away from Tsutsui’s hair so he can brace himself at the floor and push himself up and away. Kaga’s balance is unsteady, his feet stumble before he can catch himself enough to pull his pants back around his hips and make his way down the hallway to the bathroom; Tsutsui doesn’t try to move at all, just stays where he is on the floor with damp drying to a sticky shine on his skin and the bitter taste of beer caught on the back of his tongue.

When he swallows, he imagines he can feel Kaga’s heat caught against the rhythm of his wildly-pounding heart.


	15. Hurt

Kaga wakes up with a headache.

He knew he would. He knew as much last night, when he was standing under the spray of the shower slowly going cold against his shoulders while the world spun gently around him. He drank too much, and ate too little, and when he collapsed into bed he did so with his vision blurry and in the full awareness that he was going to wake up hungover even if his stomach let him sleep through what remains of the night. It does -- the unbreakable unconsciousness of intoxication overrides whatever nausea the alcohol left in its wake -- and when Kaga wakes it’s with a pounding headache, and sweat-sticky skin, and the taste of Tsutsui at the back of his throat.

There’s no hope of forgetting. He’s turned away from his dreams before, has washed himself clean of repressed desire with his morning shower and pressed back the force of want that sits inside his chest alongside the beat of his heart; he’s had years of practice, and the more so in recent months, with the constant weight of Tsutsui’s presence lingering in the air like the smell of summer-warm grass crushed underfoot. But this is different, now, Kaga knows it is even before he pushes himself half-upright in bed, and the swoop of horror that knots his stomach has more to do with that awareness than with the effect of the alcohol still lingering in his veins. Kaga remembers too-clearly, more clearly than his intoxication should allow for, and his memory is hazy at the edges and unclear at the start and end but the middle is too clear for mistake. Tsutsui gasping under him, Tsutsui’s lashes heavy over the grey-green of his eyes, Tsutsui’s fingers clutching in Kaga’s hair and Tsutsui’s throat tight on a moan of heat as he arched and quaked into pleasure with Kaga’s come still drying on his stomach. There are fractured segments of conversation, Tsutsui’s trembling lips forming out words at Kaga’s demand that make Kaga flush hotter just to think of, and the feel of Tsutsui’s mouth soft and submissive to the force of Kaga’s, and a promise, too, _next time_ hanging in the air like a shadow to cloud the usual illumination of Kaga’s life.

He wishes he could leave it. It would be easier to turn away, to ignore this, to reject this confirmation of something he has known about himself for far longer than he has any desire to admit. But even now, even with guilt heavy as lead in his stomach, the memory of Tsutsui’s parted lips and ready surrender are flickering heat into his blood and flushing his cock half-hard against the fall of his boxers. Kaga grimaces and reaches down to grind a palm against himself like he can push the arousal away, like he can reject the evidence of heat as quickly as he rejects the cause of it. But it’s there, now, too clear to be papered over with thin excuses of idol pinups or the face of some far-off female classmate, and there’s no question, this time, no way for Kaga to hide the source of his desire even from himself. He grimaces again, pushes to his feet with haste utterly careless of the way it makes his head spin on the dizziness of his hangover, and when he moves it’s to stumble towards the door in pursuit of the cold shower that will solve the problem for this moment if nothing else. He reaches for the handle, wrenches the door open, and nearly runs into Tsutsui coming down the hallway.

Kaga jumps back as fast as Tsutsui does. His whole body flashes hot, embarrassment and arousal fighting for dominance in his veins; he hadn’t thought through the speed of his action, hadn’t considered the possibility that Tsutsui would be awake yet. Tsutsui stares at Kaga for a brief moment, his eyes wide with undisguised shock; and then his cheeks flare to brilliant red, and he ducks his head as he gasps an inhale only barely shaped around “ _Kaga_ ” in the back of his throat.

“Hey,” Kaga says, because he doesn’t know what else to say with his face burning to heat that goes unseen thanks to the duck of Tsutsui’s head. “Morning.”

“Good morning,” Tsutsui says in the direction of his feet. He lifts a hand to urge his glasses higher up his nose but he doesn’t lift his head; he’s fully dressed, at least, most of his skin covered by jeans and a pale t-shirt. His hair is falling soft against the back of his neck. Kaga can see the line of bone pressing close against the skin as Tsutsui’s head tips farther forward. “How. How did you sleep?”

“I passed out,” Kaga tells him. His heart is pounding hard in his chest, urging him towards fight or flight; it’s adrenaline steering his words, now, pushing him towards some kind of resolution before Tsutsui lifts his head, before Tsutsui notices that Kaga’s more than half-hard inside his boxers, before Tsutsui finds the words to ask a question Kaga doesn’t have the answer for. “You’re a harder drinker than I thought you were.”

“Ah,” Tsutsui says, and starts to lift his head. “What?”

Tsutsui’s chin is lifting. Kaga can see the other’s gaze sliding up over him, can see the scarlet flush of self-consciousness coming into the illumination of the hallway. In a moment Tsutsui will see Kaga’s face, will see the blush of the other’s embarrassment confirming more than Kaga wants to admit to himself, giving more away than Kaga has available to offer; there’s only the gap of a heartbeat, only enough time for the whip-quick lash of adrenaline, and it’s that that blurts sound over Kaga’s lips, that spills “I didn’t think you’d be able to get me to black out” before he has had time to think through the words.

It’s remarkable how fast the color drains from Tsutsui’s face. He’s still blushing when he starts looking up, red saturating every inch of his skin Kaga can see and starting to spread along the curve of his throat to spill to his collarbones; but as his eyes come into focus on the other’s face he’s gone white, all the embarrassment in his veins faded out to leave just high spots of disbelieving color along his cheekbones. Kaga’s stomach drops, his heart goes into freefall; but his mouth is still moving, is still offering words to chase back the unbearable weight of discovery from the silent shock in the space between the two of them.

“It’s been a while since I drank enough to pass out like that,” he says, off-hand, as if his spine isn’t aching with tension, as if his hands aren’t cramping with the desire to ball into fists that he can slam through a window, into a wall, against the straining self-consciousness trembling in his legs. “Hope I didn’t do anything too embarrassing or anything.”

Tsutsui’s mouth works on air, the action soundless for a moment before he blinks, and shuts his mouth, and swallows hard. He’s still staring at Kaga, his eyes still wide with shock; they look like they’re swallowing all the illumination in the world, like they’re glowing from within to leave Kaga standing in the weight of his own shadow.

“No,” Tsutsui manages, then, and Kaga nearly flinches, caught somewhere between relief and resignation that Tsutsui is going to follow his lead in this the same way he has followed Kaga in everything else. “I don’t think so.”

“You too?” Kaga asks, too-loud and too-fast, but Tsutsui doesn’t seem to notice the giveaway rush of the words; he’s cringing back from the force of them, dropping his chin into surrender to the lie Kaga is imposing on them both, and Kaga keeps talking, watching the force of his words bruise unhappiness into the set of Tsutsui’s mouth and the crease at his forehead and totally unable to stop the rush of relieved dishonesty in his throat. “Figures, I should have known you’d be out if I was.” He reaches out, his hand lands hard at Tsutsui’s shoulder; there’s a shiver of electricity between them, a jolt that runs all the way up Kaga’s arm and tenses in his fingers, but Tsutsui just sags to the force at his sleeve, tipping sideways under the impact like he lacks the strength to keep himself upright. Kaga’s breath catches, his chest aches on emotion, and when he talks it’s louder to compensate, his teasing so overstated it echoes off the enclosed walls and pounds against his already aching head. “Don’t worry about it, we’ll make a man of you yet. Next time you’re starting with beer right from the start.”

“Yes,” Tsutsui says, sounding so entirely defeated that Kaga doesn’t even feel any satisfaction at winning this capitulation so easily. “Next time. Sure.”

“Yeah,” Kaga says, and pulls his hand away, and keeps going past Tsutsui to lock himself in the bathroom. The fan is too loud when he turns it on; the white noise pounds at his temples and behind his eyes until he doesn’t even bother turning the light on, just finds the faucet in the dark and turns the water to the coldest setting to run while he strips off his t-shirt and boxers. He shuts his eyes when he steps under the spray, and grits his teeth against the ache of the cold across his skin; but even in the dark all he can see is the misery on Tsutsui’s face, the absolute unhappiness that he is solely responsible for.

The ache in his head is nothing compared to the one inside his chest.


	16. Overwhelmed

The second time Tsutsui drinks with Kaga, he does it on purpose.

The first time was a surprise. He hadn’t expected the way the alcohol turned Kaga’s eyes dark and heavy with want any more than he had expected to shudder into orgasm pinned under the shadow of Kaga’s body over him, the pleasure distant and hazy with his intoxication but the force of Kaga’s presence as real and inescapable as the memory the next morning, the memory Tsutsui isn’t sure he shares even with Kaga. Kaga’s been almost completely absent since that night, out at games or drinking at bars instead of at home; but Tsutsui asks about his matches when he can, and reads the paper for the results when he can’t, and every time he sees a victory he remembers the set of Kaga’s jaw, remembers _I won for you_ growled with so much heat on the words they sounded as much like anger as affection before Kaga reached out over the edge of the table to crush bruises into Tsutsui’s mouth that took days to fade. Tsutsui thinks about that, recalls the friction of Kaga’s body against his every time he reads about a victory, and the day Kaga leaves for the finals of his next tournament Tsutsui goes out to buy a pack of beer for them both. He hasn’t forgotten that, either, even if Kaga has; and by the time Kaga comes in the door of their apartment Tsutsui has a bottle already open, is offering a toast “To your win” before Kaga has yet shed his jacket and while Tsutsui’s heart is still pounding to panic in his chest. He’s sure Kaga will remember, sure Kaga will comment; but Kaga just stares at him, and reaches for the beer in Tsutsui’s hand, and when he takes a long swallow of the liquid Tsutsui can watch the motion of Kaga’s throat on the liquid like the promise he was hoping to get.

They make it to the bedroom before Tsutsui has his second beer. The beer is harder to drink than the sake, the bitter tang of it catches at the back of his throat and chokes him until it’s hard to swallow more than a sip at a time; but it doesn’t matter, not when his hands are trembling more with anticipation than intoxication and Kaga is growling every other word like an innuendo. Kaga drinks his first beer in a rush, starts at least a second that Tsutsui knows of; he might be on his third by the time he reaches across the table to grab at a fist of Tsutsui’s shirt and drag him forward and into a kiss. Tsutsui is ready for it this time -- he’s moving as fast as Kaga is, stumbling forward to land on his knees alongside Kaga’s chair instead of just falling like he did the first time -- but Kaga only holds him still for a few minutes of kissing before he pushes his chair back and away and closes his hand hard at Tsutsui’s wrist to drag him to his feet instead.

“Let’s get more comfortable,” he says, his voice as dark as his eyes, and Tsutsui’s whole body goes so hot he can’t manage to collect his balance himself. Kaga has to pull him upright, has to hold him there with mocking laughter about not being able to hold his alcohol, and then he’s pushing open the door to his bedroom and pushing Tsutsui forward onto the bed and Tsutsui is falling, landing atop a tangle of blankets creased from Kaga’s sleep and left in a mess to catch his abrupt forward motion. They smell like Kaga, when Tsutsui presses his face against the pillow, a little spicy and a little bitter and rich all the way down, like the unbearable force of Kaga’s presence is filling the room and Tsutsui’s lungs and leaving him dizzy and as breathless as if Kaga is pressing the air out of his lungs himself. Tsutsui’s skin is hot, his body thrumming itself into the ache of familiar desire, and when he moves it’s to buck his hips forward without thinking, to grind himself down against the resistance of Kaga’s sheets in a helpless, desperate attempt at friction to relieve the heat pooling low in his stomach.

There’s a laugh from behind him, a growl of rough amusement to match the force of the hand at Tsutsui’s hip that shoves his shirt up off his skin. The bed shifts with Kaga’s weight, the other’s knee lands heavy between Tsutsui’s, and his hand is sliding sideways along the edge of Tsutsui’s pants, fumbling for a hold on the button keeping the clothing up over the other’s hips.

“Virgin,” Kaga purrs, sounding pleased and entertained as he undoes Tsutsui’s pants with a force more effective than gentle. There’s glancing friction against Tsutsui’s cock, the press of Kaga’s palm against his pants offering the possibility of more, and Tsutsui groans and rocks forward again, straining for traction he can’t get against the angle of Kaga’s wrist. Kaga just laughs again, drags down at the zipper of Tsutsui’s pants and rocks back so he can curl his fingers inside the other’s clothes and force them down and off his hips in a single rushed movement. “You’re that desperate for my cock, that you’re trying to get off just from being on my bed?” Kaga drags at Tsutsui’s pants, tangles them around the other’s knees; Tsutsui arches his back and rocks his weight up over his hands against the mattress so Kaga can pull his clothes down and off his legs. The denim of his jeans catches at the soft of one sock, dragging it free in the same movement, but Kaga doesn’t stop to strip off the other; he’s leaning back in instead, shoving his knee hard against the inside of Tsutsui’s leg until the other slides his feet farther apart to make space for Kaga to kneel behind him. “You’re gonna come as soon as I get a couple fingers inside you, aren’t you?”

Tsutsui shakes his head, weak protest even if he knew his denial to be true; he has no idea what he’s going to do, can’t entirely believe that this is actually happening, even with the faint haze of intoxication to ease his acceptance of everything that’s occuring right now. “No, I--”

“Shut up,” Kaga tells him without letting Tsutsui finish his sentence. “You don’t even know, it’s not like you have any experience anyway.”

Tsutsui feels his fingers tighten against the sheets under him, feels the pressure in his chest twist and knot into something very nearly anger in his veins. Kaga’s hands are on him, the weight of the other’s palms sliding across the backs of his thighs and up, fingers tightening like he’s appreciating the give of Tsutsui’s skin under his touch, and maybe it’s the desperation that does it, that pushes Tsutsui to blurt “I _do_ ” like it’s a confession pushed out of him under the weight of Kaga’s touch.

Kaga’s fingers slide, pause, go still against Tsutsui’s skin. “What?” he asks, the rhythm of his speech broken to confusion by this interruption. “You do _what_?”

“I do,” Tsutsui repeats before realizing that’s not what Kaga’s asking, that his response was perfectly audible but his subject left unclear. “I do have experience.” Kaga’s fingers tighten again Tsutsui’s legs, a flicker of reaction clear under his touch, and Tsutsui hurries on to spill further clarity into the sudden quiet of the room. “Not a lot, I mean. Not recently. But in high school, I--”

“ _Who_ ,” Kaga grates, loud and rough enough that it stills Tsutsui’s voice entirely against the pressure in his chest. Tsutsui gasps for air, feeling a little like he’s choking on the sudden harshness in Kaga’s tone, and Kaga’s fingers tighten against him, digging in painfully against the back of Tsutsui’s thighs. “Who was it, who did you let _fuck_ you, Tsutsui.”

“What?” Tsutsui manages, and then, on a hiss of startled hurt as Kaga’s fingernails catch and scratch against him, “No one, I did...I had a girlfriend, for a while, in high school.”

“A _girlfriend_ ,” Kaga repeats. “ _You_ had a _girlfriend_.”

“Yes,” Tsutsui says. He turns his head against the sheets, trying to look back over his shoulder at Kaga kneeling behind him. “We had sex a few times and broke up when we graduated. It doesn’t really matter, I just--”

“Shut the fuck up,” Kaga snaps again, his voice raw in the back of his throat. “‘It doesn’t matter.’” His voice is higher than usual, pitched to make a mockery of Tsutsui’s; the last word tapers into a growl, hissing hard in the back of his throat, and when his hands tighten this time it’s to shove hard at Tsutsui’s legs and force them wider on the bed by inches. Tsutsui’s knees slide apart, the inside of his thighs aching with the angle, and Kaga leans forward against him, the weight of his jeans pressing hard against Tsutsui’s skin.

“It doesn’t matter,” he repeats, but in closer to his own voice, now, dragging the words low and as long as a promise. “So you stuck your dick in some girl in high school.” He rocks forward, hard, his weight shoving Tsutsui down against the bed, and Tsutsui gasps at the pressure, at the feeling of being pinned for a moment between Kaga bearing down against his hips and the soft resistance of the bed under him. His cock catches on the sheets, the heat of his own body catching and reflecting back to him, and Kaga rolls his weight forward in a long, deliberate stroke, like he’s practicing the motion to come. Tsutsui can feel Kaga’s jeans catch against his skin, can feel the drag and tug of friction against him, and he’s trembling against the bed, caught somewhere between desire to offer unnecessary apology and the need to plead for more, to beg Kaga to open the weight of the zipper pressing against his skin and just--

“Whatever,” Kaga says, his voice shutting off the overheated spill of Tsutsui’s inner monologue as much as it does any protest the other might offer. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care.” He _sounds_ like he cares, he sounds like he’s hissing on anger with every word, but Tsutsui can’t see Kaga’s face and those fingers are sliding up the inside of his thigh, drawing up by inches to press between the angle of his shaking legs. “I’m still going to be the first to fuck you for real.” His fingers slip over Tsutsui’s skin, the texture of his touch dragging across sensitive nerve endings, and Tsutsui can’t help the way his body jerks at the weight of Kaga’s fingertips against his entrance, at the threat of pressure that comes with the rough drag of the other’s hand over him.

“That’s right, isn’t it?” Kaga demands, his fingers rubbing against Tsutsui like he’s feeling out the heat of him, like he’s tracing out the flex of heat in the skin under his fingers. “You saved this for me, right?” Tsutsui’s breath leaves him in a rush, his spine tensing on a jolt of electricity, and Kaga pushes harder, until Tsutsui can feel himself giving way to the force in spite of the burn of friction that comes with it. “No one else has ever touched you here, have they. Tell me, Tsutsui.”

Tsutsui takes a breath, feels it thrumming to flame in his chest. “No,” he says, and his heart is pounding and his cock is aching and Kaga’s touch is pushing against him and Tsutsui’s stomach feels like it’s in a freefall of heat. “No, Kaga, no, just you. Only you.”

“Good,” Kaga says, and then his fingers are sliding away and Tsutsui is gasping a strangled breath that sounds like relief and tastes like disappointment, his body relaxing away from the threat of friction while his cock jerks for more against the tangle of the sheets under him. Kaga leans forward, his weight pressing Tsutsui down hard against the bed as he reaches to stretch out and slide his fingers under the edge of the mattress, and Tsutsui can’t breathe and can barely move and he doesn’t want Kaga to move either, doesn’t want Kaga to ever be anywhere but just like he is, pressing Tsutsui down hard against the crumpled sheets of his bed. Tsutsui takes a breath, desperate and straining against the sheets under him, and Kaga pushes back up over his knees, the crush of his body absenting itself as rapidly as it came. Tsutsui hisses an inhale, trying to fill his lungs and steady the pounding of his heart while Kaga twists open the bottle he was stretching for.

“Only me,” Kaga repeats, spilling lubrication over his fingers with enough carelessness that the liquid splashes off his skin to splatter against Tsutsui’s thighs and the dip of his spine. Tsutsui flinches with the cold, his body tensing reflexively against the splash of the droplets, and Kaga casts the bottle aside with no care at all to where it lands. His hand lands at Tsutsui’s thigh again, his fingers dig in close against the other’s skin to hold his leg at the angle it already is, and then his touch is back, as rough as before but slippery with lubrication now, the cool of the liquid coating his skin rapidly warming as his fingers press hard against Tsutsui. “Have you ever done this to yourself, Tsutsui?”

Tsutsui shakes his head against the sheets. The frames of his glasses are digging uncomfortably against the bridge of his nose. “No.”

“I’m first,” Kaga purrs, sounding hot and vicious and satisfied, and then he pushes in all at once, forcing a finger past Tsutsui’s entrance in a single rushed thrust. Tsutsui cries out against the sheets, his shoulders hunching and back curving against the sudden flare of heat and pain and friction, but Kaga’s groaning too, his breathing shuddering out into full-throated heat as he works his touch farther into the other.

“No one else,” he says, like he’s savouring the sound, and draws his finger back to thrust in again, farther by an inch than the first push. It feels strange and invasive; his touch is prickling friction all up the length of Tsutsui’s spine and stretching uncomfortable tension out into him, but Tsutsui’s head is spinning, the alcohol or the heat or both together overriding his better judgment, until the only clear thought in him is _Kaga’s inside me_ with near-frantic heat to match the way his cock is going slick with pre-come against the sheets under him.

Kaga’s still talking. His voice is low, the words toppling one over another so fast Tsutsui thinks he’s not meant to hear, thinks they’re intended more for Kaga’s benefit than his own, like some kind of soundtrack to set the rhythm for the rushed stroke of Kaga’s hand as he works his touch farther inside the other’s body. “No one else, just me, no one else has felt you like this, I’m the first one, you’re going to let me touch you and then you’re going to let me fuck you and I’ll know what you feel like and no one else will, it’ll be just me.”

“Yes,” Tsutsui gasps against the sheets, as Kaga pulls his finger back and pushes against him with two together. “Only you.”

“Good,” Kaga growls, and his fingers sink into Tsutsui’s body, the double width of them stretching Tsutsui until he gasps against the sheets, his legs flexing in strained, unformed motion over the bed under him. “That’s how it should be. You _should_ be mine, you should _always_ have been mine.”

“You were,” Tsutsui starts, and Kaga’s fingers force inside him and he breaks off into a moan, instinct protesting the pain of Kaga’s touch pushing too-rough into him but the back of his thoughts panting for more, his spine arching with the want to have both Kaga’s fingers as deep inside him as the other can reach, three fingers, whatever it takes to stretch him open so Kaga can pin him to the bed and fill him with the slick thrust of his cock. The idea steals Tsutsui’s breath, leaves him trembling with helpless force over the sheets, and it takes a conscious effort of will to pull his thoughts back into alignment enough to muster the coherency for the rest of his sentence. “You were gone, you graduated, it was--” Another shove of Kaga’s fingers, another full-body tremor along Tsutsui’s spine; he’s left gasping, clutching at the sheets while Kaga growls wordless over him and draws his touch back to fall into a rushed rhythm. “I didn’t think I was ever going to see you again.”

“You still wanted this,” Kaga tells him, and his fingers are pushing Tsutsui open and his words are pulling apart Tsutsui’s defenses and Tsutsui is laid out over the bed for Kaga, as submissive to the other’s demands as he has ever been, if Kaga had only been asking this of him. “That’s why you met with me. That’s why you stare at me when you think I’m not looking. How many times have you gone back to your room to jerk off to the thought of me naked, Tsutsui?”

Tsutsui whimpers into the sheets, his hips jerking forward to press him harder against the bed. “ _God_.”

“It’s only fair,” Kaga tells him, his fingers sliding back and away and leaving Tsutsui aching and empty and trembling with unfulfilled desire. Behind him there’s the sound of fabric rustling, the rattle of a zipper drawing down, and Tsutsui shuts his eyes and breathes deep and feels the electricity of anticipation fill his chest and expand behind his eyes and glow to fire low in the depths of his stomach. Kaga’s hold at his leg doesn’t ease, but there’s the wet slick sound of skin-of-skin; he must be jerking over himself one-handed, Tsutsui thinks, pressing his fingers against the curve of his cock and in under the swollen head and Tsutsui can’t breathe, can’t find air from the space around him for the pounding anticipation coming hard in his chest.

“ _I_ thought about you,” Kaga says, and his knees are pressing hard inside the line of Tsutsui’s, his weight is shifting on the bed. There’s the catch of denim against Tsutsui’s legs, the weight of Kaga’s pants slipping half-off his hips as the other moves, and then heat against Tsutsui’s skin, the slick resistance of Kaga’s cock dragging over him, and Kaga’s voice, so resonant Tsutsui imagines he can feel it running all along his spine from that point of contact between them: “I’ve never wanted anyone but you.”

“Oh,” Tsutsui says, and then, on the start of an epiphany: “Kaga, have you--” and Kaga thrusts into him, hard, a jolt of force that blows all Tsutsui’s slow-forming realization out of his head to make space for the bright moan that tears out of him instead. He’s heat, he’s friction, his body is tensing hard in protest and want at once and over him Kaga is groaning, is gasping through something nearly pain as he rocks forward to drive farther into Tsutsui’s body.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he’s hissing, his hips drawing back by a half-inch to thrust forward again hard, without giving Tsutsui a chance to react or relax to the force of his movement. “God, _fuck_ Tsutsui, you’re so fucking _tight_.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Tsutsui wails against the sheets, half pain and half heat and all incoherent, nothing but helpless desperation spilling to liquid sound over his tongue as the intrusion of Kaga’s cock slides impossibly deeper into his body. “Ah _, Kaga_.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Kaga groans, and he draws back in truth this time, Tsutsui can feel the motion dragging inside him before Kaga bucks forward again with arrhythmic force. “Like that, Tsutsui, do you like the--” Another thrust, bright and blinding and curving Tsutsui’s spine into involuntary heat. “--The way my cock feels in you?”

“Oh,” Tsutsui pants. “God.”

“Say it,” Kaga demands, his voice breaking open on heat, his hips stuttering into force without any pattern that Tsutsui can grasp, without anything to tell whether this thrust will be a long slow drag or a sharp, fast rush of friction forcing space for itself inside him. “I want to hear you tell me you like it.”

“I like it,” Tsutsui says, obedient without even quite knowing if the words are true, without being certain that the heat straining along his spine is pleasure or just tension. “Kaga.”

“I know you do,” Kaga purrs, the words slurring so fast over each other Tsutsui can barely pick them apart into coherency. “This is all you really wanted, is someone’s cock up your ass for you to come around.” His hips buck forward into another rough thrust and Tsutsui’s eyes go wide, his whole body tensing on sensation so strong that for a moment he doesn’t even parse it as pleasure. He’s moaning without realizing it, almost shouting in the sudden surge of heat, and over him Kaga growls incoherent approval and grabs at his shoulder, pushing hard to pin Tsutsui down against the bed under him as he moves into him with reckless speed.

“You like this better than fucking some girl,” Kaga tells him. His thumb is digging into Tsutsui’s shoulder with painful force; Tsutsui suspects there will be a bruise there, in the morning or even later tonight, if he bothers to look for it. “You were made to be _taken_ , I know you were, you’re going to come better for me than you ever did for her.” The hand at Tsutsui’s shoulder tightens, the pressure dips in harder, and Kaga’s other hand is coming around his hip, his fingers seeking out the flush of Tsutsui’s cock against the sheets with more speed than care. His grip closes around Tsutsui’s length, his hand jerks up hard and fast, and Tsutsui shudders against the sheets, his whole body clenching reflexively against the first surge of heat that follows Kaga’s fingers pulling pleasure out into his veins. Kaga groans over him, a rough, raw sound in the back of his throat, and when he moves it’s harder, faster, his hips setting the frantic pace his stroking grip only follows as an afterthought.

“You feel so good,” he says, but the words are low, Tsutsui’s not sure he’s meant to hear them and he can barely focus anyway, with the alternate force of Kaga fucking into him and stroking over him to pull his attention to pieces around the impact of the other’s actions. “You’re so hot and tight and _fuck_ , Tsutsui, you’re--” as his words disintegrate into a helpless groan, as his hips jolt forward to spike another flare of impossible sensation up Tsutsui’s spine and white out his vision for a moment of breathless heat. “You look so good with your legs spread open for me, shit, Tsutsui, you feel--” Another break, giving way this time to a clenched-teeth hiss of sound as the rhythm of Kaga’s movements goes deliberate, slowing in exchange for a harder force that Tsutsui can feel up the whole length of his spine with every thrust.

“Come on, Tsutsui, you’re gonna come for me, right?” with strain collecting on the words, with Kaga’s hand at Tsutsui’s shoulders tightening even more than his stroking grip around the other’s cock. “Come for me, let me feel you, I want to feel you coming while I fuck you.” Kaga’s thrusts are going slower, going shakier; Tsutsui can hear heat under the other’s voice, can feel the tension in Kaga’s body straining in that hold at his shoulder, but he can’t answer, can’t find air for the electricity coiling tight in his stomach and drawing closer on itself with every drag of Kaga’s touch over him. He’s shaking, he’s trembling, he’s sure Kaga can feel how close he is, and over him Kaga is pleading: “Tsutsui, please, _please_ , let me, I want to, I want you, Tsutsui.” Tsutsui gasps for air, fills his lungs with the words to say _I’m close_ , with the breath to say _hold on_ ; and Kaga’s thumb slips over the head of his cock, pressing in deep against the sensitive skin, and all the tension in him snaps into calm in a sudden rush of awareness.

“Oh,” he says, his voice surprisingly loud and clear in his throat. “Kaga, I” and then his cock pulses, and his body convulses, and everything he might have said gives way to a wail of heat that skids and breaks into desperation in the back of his throat. He’s coming over Kaga’s fingers, Kaga’s wrist, Kaga’s _sheets_ , but it doesn’t matter because Kaga is groaning over him too, Kaga is bucking forward to spike friction deep inside Tsutsui and coming with a rush of heat Tsutsui imagines he can feel filling the whole of his body. The hand at his shoulder tenses, eases, and Tsutsui gasps for air against the sheets and feels the tension of anticipation release into the shaky weight of satisfaction all through his limbs. He’s still breathing hard, his heart is still pounding on adrenaline in his chest; but over him Kaga is shuddering through a sigh of relief and leaning in to fall heavily against Tsutsui’s back. His shirt catches at the weight of Tsutsui’s, his weight pins Tsutsui uncomfortably close to the bed; Kaga’s wrist is caught under his hip, Kaga’s fingers are still curled idly around his cock, but Tsutsui doesn’t reach for a protest, and over him Kaga’s mouth is catching at his hair, Kaga’s breathing is gusting loud against his ear.

“There,” Kaga says, his voice trembling in the back of his throat like he’s not quite sure what to do with it. “I’m the first one to have had you like this.”

 _Yes_ , Tsutsui could say. _You’re the first person I ever wanted to touch me like this. You’re still the only one I dream about. I don’t want to have anyone but you ever again_.

“Yes,” he says aloud, his voice half-muffled against the sheets. “It’s you.”

Kaga growls satisfied heat against the back of Tsutsui’s ear, his voice low and purring even before he presses a rough kiss against the side of the other’s neck. Tsutsui can’t catch his breath with Kaga on top of him like this, can’t stop the desperate pounding of his heart in his chest, but he doesn’t try to pull away and he doesn’t ask Kaga to move. He shuts his eyes instead, and lets his thoughts wander to heat, and lets the weight of Kaga’s body crush him down against the tangle of the sheets under him.

Tsutsui has always liked the way Kaga overwhelms him.


	17. Clear

After the second time, Kaga stops waiting to win tournaments.

His first victory was in order to get Tsutsui drunk, so Kaga could see the flush of intoxication spread out over the other’s cheekbones and win the easy smile of delight off alcohol-kissed lips. Kaga didn’t intend for the night to go as it did, with Tsutsui on the floor under him gasping and trembling into heat, and he was sure, the next morning, that Tsutsui was going to say something, was going to put words to the memories Kaga said he forgot and actually recalls with crystalline clarity in the darkness of his bedroom at night. But Tsutsui had let Kaga claim ignorance, and had let him go back to drinking alone and playing shogi matches with a new, desperate edge of motivation under his games, and when Kaga came home from his second win it was to find Tsutsui pale and trembling with nerves and offering him an already-opened beer like it’s his own self he’s extending between shaking fingers. Kaga had accepted, knowing full well what it was he was doing in bringing the bottle to his lips, and that evening had ended even better than the first. Tsutsui didn’t say anything the next morning either, didn’t even try to meet Kaga’s gaze when they passed each other on their way to breakfast and a shower respectively. Kaga could hardly claim ignorance now, when his sheets smell like Tsutsui’s skin and the top layer is stained with proof that Tsutsui wailing into orgasm under him wasn’t some extraordinarily clear fantasy, but Tsutsui doesn’t make him lie and Kaga goes on to take his shower with relief trembling through the whole of his body. Tsutsui has made breakfast for him when he gets out, and they eat over surprisingly companionable conversation, and when the sun starts to set Kaga pulls out what remains of the beer Tsutsui had waiting for him yesterday, and drinks two, and then takes Tsutsui to the couch and finds out what expression he makes when Kaga fucks him while Tsutsui is on his back with his legs looped around Kaga’s hips. Kaga lasts longer the second time, with the shuddering waves of tension running over Tsutsui’s face to urge his stamina to hold out, and if he comes first that just means Tsutsui’s own orgasm draws his the longer, pulling deep-down aftershocks of pleasure out into him with every clenching wave of heat that hits the other. The next time Kaga gets Tsutsui to come first by minutes, and keeps fucking him through it, and by the time Kaga gives in to his own orgasm Tsutsui looks so heat-dazed Kaga is starting to wonder if he can’t force a second wave of pleasure from the other. Two days later Tsutsui lets Kaga fuck past the part of his lips and come in sticky stripes over the shine of his glasses, and it’s later that week that Kaga figures out how to angle the drive of his hips forward into Tsutsui to draw helpless moans of heat spilling up the other’s throat. Tsutsui comes twice that time to Kaga’s one, and even afterwards he’s shaking when Kaga collapses against him, keeps trembling with little jolts of sensation until Kaga finally pulls out to leave Tsutsui to shudder himself to breathless relief over the tangle of Kaga’s bedsheets.

It becomes almost routine. Kaga doesn’t claim that he doesn’t remember their interludes, and Tsutsui doesn’t ask if he does; during the day they interact much as they did before, with the appearance of casual friendship over shared meals or hours of time spent alone in their respective rooms. But Kaga keeps buying more beer for the fridge, even when Tsutsui all but stops drinking it, and every night Kaga makes his way through one or two bottles before the purr of intoxication in him runs up against anticipation and destroys any claim to patience he might have. They end up on the couch, or the kitchen floor, or over Kaga’s bed, and even past the haze of alcohol that pulls his focus apart Kaga always pays attention to the way Tsutsui’s voice breaks over his name, and the way Tsutsui’s shoulders hunch and his fingers clench as he comes, and the infinite impossible details of the way Tsutsui feels, the heat of his body and the wet of his mouth and the thousand and one specifics Kaga has to cling to for warmth in the morning, when his hangover and his guilt hit him with equal force to turn his stomach and strip away the few hours of satisfaction he gains with the damp heat of Tsutsui’s body underneath his.

The achiness is the worst. Kaga doesn’t know if it’s the too-frequent hangovers or just the constant exhaustion of too many late-night interludes in a row, but he’s weak now in a way he never used to be, even when he drank twice as much and woke up still dizzy with the trailing edge of intoxication. His knees are shaky when he wakes up, his balance sometimes gives way completely as if his legs are refusing to hold him upright; first thing in the morning he has to fumble his way into the bathroom by clinging to the support of the walls in case his whole body goes slack in that way it does, sometimes, without any warning but the whirl of his balance veering to dizziness for a moment as his ears ring with far-off noise. Sometimes he makes it there before Tsutsui wakes up and avoids an audience for his uncertain footsteps; more often Tsutsui is in the living room, or the kitchen, and if he notices Kaga’s unsteady stride he doesn’t comment on it any more than he comments on the ever-accumulating weight of the relationship they have formed in the hollow space of the empty bottles that overflow their recycling bin to collect in neat rows on the floor around it as well. This morning Kaga woke up with a throbbing ache behind his temples, and his vision spinning faintly around him, and when he tried to make it to the bathroom he collapsed halfway there as if his limbs had been drained of all their strength at once to drop him to shiver against the floor until his control over them returned. Eventually the involuntary trembling stops, and he can pick himself up and make it past the door to sit on the floor of the bathroom with his head over his drawn-up knees and feel his whole body aching as if with the exhaustion of an entire day’s worth of movement. He feels hazy, like his thoughts aren’t quite in focus and all the discomfort still layered into his body belongs to someone else, maybe, like he’s just borrowing it for the purposes of the day; and then there’s a sound at the door, the patter of a knock against the half-open weight, and “Kaga?” in a low enough tone that it at least doesn’t make Kaga’s headache worse.

“Fuck off, Tsutsui” Kaga says without looking up at the door.

Tsutsui does not fuck off. He hesitates instead, Kaga can all but hear the considering inhale he takes in the doorway; and then he pads forward, his bare feet catching against the tile of the bathroom to bring him closer than Kaga can stand to have him when he feels like this. “Are you alright?”

“I’m sitting on a bathroom floor at eight in the morning,” Kaga growls. “Do I look like I’m alright?”

“Are you sick?” Tsutsui asks. Kaga doesn’t lift his head to see the crease of concern across the other’s forehead; he can imagine it well enough without any need for sight, can picture the frown of worry catching at the corners of Tsutsui’s mouth.

“I’m hungover,” Kaga tells him. “Go away and stop trying to mother me.”

Tsutsui still doesn’t obey. There’s a rustle of sound as he shifts to kneel alongside Kaga on the floor of the bathroom; and then a weight, the ghost of contact against the back of Kaga’s bare shoulders. Kaga’s whole body tenses as if Tsutsui’s touch has electrified him, his shoulders flexing hard under the other’s fingers; the pressure makes his headache spike to agony for a moment, whiting out his vision with blinding pain and tightening his chest on a hiss of hurt instead.

“Sorry,” Tsutsui says, snatching his touch away; but he goes on talking in spite of it, still lingering overclose at Kaga’s side. “You didn’t even have that much to drink yesterday, did you?”

Kaga’s spine tenses again, his shoulders hunching into defensiveness as if Tsutsui’s touch is back, as if Tsutsui is threatening him with a blow instead of the breathless care of his physical contact. “Fuck you,” he says, and lifts his head to glare at Tsutsui from under the cover of his hair falling over his face. “What, do you goddamn count how many beers I have?”

Tsutsui’s eyes go wider, his mouth goes soft. “What? No, I--”

“I don’t need you to goddamn baby me,” Kaga tells him, aggressive on the words to push away whatever else Tsutsui might be about to say, to cut off the dangerous edge of conversation about the night before. They _never_ talk about the evenings, never discuss how much Kaga has had to drink or the fact that Tsutsui recently has been entirely sober for what he lets Kaga do to him, and they _especially_ never acknowledge that however frequently he drinks Kaga is nothing like intoxicated enough to plead forgetfulness for the ever-increasing array of memories of Tsutsui moaning to heat underneath him. Kaga’s heart is racing, his whole body as tense as if he’s about to take or throw a punch, and his headache is still there and his vision is flickering to shadow but there’s no space to consider it, not with the danger of this conversation demanding his full attention. “Just because you’re not enough of a man to keep up with me doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy a beer in the evenings. Maybe I’m stopping by a bar with friends before I get back here, did you think about that?”

Tsutsui’s hands are up in front of him, his wrists turned out into reflexive surrender against the force of Kaga’s hissed words. “That isn’t...I didn’t mean--”

“Leave me the fuck alone,” Kaga spits.

Tsutsui’s mouth draws down on a frown. “I’m just worried about you.”

“I don’t care,” Kaga tells him, and turns his head away again to press against his knees once more. “Just do it where I don’t have to hear about it.”

He thinks, for a moment, that Tsutsui’s going to say something else, that he’s going to take a breath and push forward into the conversation Kaga doesn’t want to have now or ever. But when there’s sound it’s just Tsutsui getting to his feet, the soft whisper of his clothes over themselves instead of the greater weight of his voice, and Kaga’s shoulders are easing into relief even before he hears the sound of Tsutsui’s footsteps carrying him out of the bathroom again. His headache presents itself for his attention once more, his temples protesting the intensity of the adrenaline now running hot through him, but all his skin is shivering cold with the fear of what almost happened, with relief for what he barely dodged. It’s enough to ease the pounding of his heart and to release the tension hunching across his shoulders, and for the first few minutes after Tsutsui leaves Kaga feels almost content just from the force of the relief prickling up his spine and cool against the back of his neck.

He hears the door shift, this time. The tension surges back to his shoulders, curls to panic in the grip of his fingers; but Tsutsui doesn’t say anything this time, and doesn’t come in to kneel alongside Kaga again. He just pads forward, his feet catching at the floor as he approaches; there’s a click of sound, something heavy tapping against the floor, and then the footsteps retreating again as Tsutsui leaves the bathroom and tugs the door mostly shut behind him. Kaga stays where he is for several long seconds, waiting to see if Tsutsui is going to return; and then he turns his head and blinks focus back to his eyes to see what Tsutsui brought in to him. It’s a glass of water, half-full and set within easy reach but out of range of Kaga’s braced-out foot; the surface has gone still since Tsutsui left, the liquid inside as clear as the cup itself. Kaga stares at it for a long moment, looking at the barely-visible line the surface makes against the inside of the glass while he considers the taste of water against his aching throat, thinks about the effort needed to press shaky fingers to the slick shine of the cup. Then he turns away again to drop his forehead to his knees once more and to shut his eyes to the distraction of sight, and leaves the water where it is in favor of breathing through the rush of pain that hits his head like a wave of agony reasserting itself.

Tsutsui doesn’t come back in to check on Kaga again, and Kaga doesn’t actually take a drink from the glass; but he keeps looking at it, between the waves of trembling that break and overwhelm him, and if he feels the awareness of Tsutsui’s concern like a touch at the back of his neck there’s no one there to see him shiver with the sensation.


	18. Helpful

By the end of the first month, Tsutsui has stopped drinking entirely.

He was never a big drinker, even before Kaga moved in; alcohol makes Tsutsui feel fuzzy and vaguely hazy in a way that is sometimes fun with a group but often just makes him sleepy alone, and it never seemed worth the expense of buying anything if all he was going to do with it was fall asleep hours before he usually does. With Kaga around he has new reason to do so, at first from the insistent pressure exerted on him by the other and every time after that from the shiver of want that purrs through his veins at the memory of Kaga’s hands on him, at the thought of Kaga’s mouth crushing hard against his own. But then Kaga stops waiting for victories, and stops waiting for Tsutsui to join him in a drink, and after a few days of Kaga pinning him down to the soft of the couch after he’s made it through a pair of beers Tsutsui gives up the warm flush of alcohol completely in exchange for the crystalline clarity of sobriety for the things Kaga does to him. Kaga never asks if he remembers; after the first time they don’t talk about it at all during the day, but in the evenings Kaga purrs taunts against Tsutsui’s ear that indicate a more-than-functional recollection of the things they’ve done previously. Tsutsui isn’t sure how Kaga is maintaining whatever facade he’s established in his own head; but it’s clear that without the alcohol he won’t let himself indulge, and however often Tsutsui thinks of saying something he never does. Kaga is an adult as much as he is, and if Tsutsui can choose to stay silent in exchange for the orgasms that leave him shuddering boneless over Kaga’s sheets each night, he feels he has no space at all to criticize whatever choices Kaga makes for himself.

At least not drinking himself wholly sidesteps the question of hangovers and keeps him from the tremors and headaches that seem to cling to Kaga longer and longer with each passing day. Tsutsui knows better than to interrupt Kaga while he’s maneuvering himself into the bathroom; the best he can do is make a pot of the coffee he doesn’t drink himself, and lower the blinds to block out the sharpest of the early-morning sunshine, and wait for Kaga to emerge once his headache passes enough to allow him to do so. It takes almost an hour, this morning; Tsutsui is well over halfway through his own pot of tea when the bathroom lock clicks open, and even when Kaga emerges into the hallway he looks miserable, pale and clammy and with such heavy shadows under his eyes that Tsutsui wonders if he managed to sleep at all.

“Good morning,” Tsutsui offers without thinking, distracted from the implications of his speech by the shiver of concern that flickers through him at seeing Kaga holding the edge of the counter like he’s struggling to keep himself upright.

“What the _fuck_ about it seems good to you?” Kaga growls, offering such a scowl in response that it would have entirely cowed Tsutsui’s younger self into ducked-head apologies and a flush of embarrassment. But Tsutsui’s been living with Kaga for months now, and sleeping with him for unacknowledged weeks, and his personal self-consciousness barely registers in his thoughts for the worry pressing itself against the inside of his mind.

“Sit down,” he suggests, getting to his feet while Kaga hunches hard over the counter and lifts a hand to press against his forehead. “I’ll bring you some coffee.”

“Who said I wanted coffee,” Kaga hisses at the support under his elbows. “It’s not like I need to be any more jittery.” But he doesn’t look up to glare Tsutsui to stillness, and after a moment Tsutsui continues with his stated goal to retrieve a mug and fill it nearly to the top with the coffee he brewed an hour ago.

“You’ve been feeling badly an awful lot,” he says while his back is still turned to Kaga at the counter. He pauses to give the other a chance to respond, or maybe to deny this perfectly obvious fact the same way he denies so many perfectly obvious things; but there’s just silence so unbroken Tsutsui isn’t completely sure Kaga is even listening to him. He glances back but Kaga is still mostly upright, if slouching hard against his arm braced at the counter; he has his head dipped down so his hair falls to shadow over his face and Tsutsui can’t see the expression he’s wearing, but his shoulders are tense under his shirt, his arms straining as if his legs can’t hold him upright. It makes Tsutsui wince in sympathetic discomfort, eases his movements as he sets the coffee pot back down as softly as he can, and when he steps forward it’s to reach for the sugar set out in a dish on the other side of the counter. “Do you think something might be wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Kaga says to the surface of the counter. His voice is low and echoes off the smooth surface until Tsutsui can’t hear anything but exhaustion under the words. “It’s just a hangover, Tsutsui.”

“You’re like this every day,” Tsutsui tells him as he stirs a pair of spoonfuls of sugar into the hot dark of the coffee in front of him. “Isn’t that too often?”

“It’s not,” Kaga says. “You’re just such a lightweight all you have to do is breathe around an open beer and you’re on the floor.” He lifts his head fractionally as Tsutsui approaches, blinks hard in a visible attempt to bring his gaze into focus; when he reaches out for the cup of coffee the motion is slow with the effort required, his fingers trembling like he’s not sure they can bear the weight. Tsutsui’s fingers brush against the warmth of Kaga’s palm; he can feel the contact spill heat down his spine like an electrical shock, but Kaga doesn’t seem to notice, and Tsutsui manages to fight back the urge to pull his hand away with anything other than perfectly ordinary speed. Kaga brings the cup towards his mouth with that same carefully deliberate focus. “You just don’t know how to have a good time.”

“I do,” Tsutsui protests, but he’s speaking softly, and he doesn’t follow the claim up with the obvious truth that he’s certainly having a better morning than Kaga is, at least so far. The other swallows a mouthful of coffee without hesitating to check the taste or temperature, then takes a breath and downs another long drink as he straightens somewhat from the support under him. It’s as if he’s coming alive, or coming awake in a way he hasn’t been in spite of his technical consciousness for that last hour; by the time he lowers the cup from his mouth again he’s standing straight enough to show off the few inches of height he has on Tsutsui and has his head lifted enough for the dimmed morning light to catch shades of red into his gaze at it gains focus.

“That’s the stuff,” Kaga says, his voice too rough to make the statement quite a compliment but still enough to radiate pleased warmth out into Tsutsui’s veins. Kaga extends the cup over the counter without saying anything and Tsutsui reaches to take it, turning away to refill the coffee and the sugar both while Kaga groans incoherent protest to the idea of consciousness and shifts at the counter. When Tsutsui turns back around Kaga’s pushed a hand through his hair and has urged the dark weight of it more-or-less off his forehead; he’s looking at the window and the drawn blinds, now, his expression strangely soft with the temporary contentment offered by the coffee Tsutsui holds out to him again.

“I’ll get you some ibuprofen,” Tsutsui says as Kaga takes the cup from him with somewhat steadier hands.

“Fuck,” Kaga sighs, already bringing the mug to his mouth for another swallow. “I can take care of myself. You sound like my mother.”

“I know,” Tsutsui says, and goes to get the ibuprofen for Kaga anyway.


	19. Deserved

Kaga is awake when Tsutsui gets up.

This is a rare occurrence. Tsutsui is one of those irritatingly productive people who wake up with the sun to begin doing chores and making unnecessarily complex breakfasts before work or classes begin; Kaga never beats him to consciousness, usually doesn’t emerge from his own bed until hours after Tsutsui is up and about. But that only applies if Kaga achieves _un_ consciousness in the first place, and last night he was so dizzy he barely made it to the couch at all after getting his fingers down inside Tsutsui’s undone jeans and jerking him into full-body tremors of orgasm underneath the shadow of Kaga’s body. Kaga barely remembers getting off himself at all, beyond the soft of Tsutsui’s hair under his fingers while he held the other’s head still against the forward motion of his hips; the relief that came with the physical release is absent from his thoughts entirely, as if he’s lost a span of time neatly clipped from beginning and end of the event. He fell over when he tried to get to his feet, his whole body going slack as if all his bones had simultaneously given way; he doesn’t remember getting back onto the couch, only that he did, somehow, and he’s been lying still since then, staring vacantly at the ceiling while the hours of night flicker past in stop-gap time. He hopes for sleep, hopes for some magical end to the knotting guilt in his stomach and the ache of agony behind his eyes; but there’s no such reprieve, and then he hears a bedroom door creak open to announce Tsutsui’s waking. There’s the sound of a door clicking softly shut, the tread of gentle footsteps down the hall; and then a pause, hesitation as Tsutsui sees the light in the living room, and “Kaga?” soft and as uncertain as if there’s anyone else it could be.

Kaga doesn’t bother answering. There’s no point, not when it will fail to change anything about Tsutsui’s actions, and sure enough he can hear the footsteps resume after a moment to prove the other’s continued approach. Tsutsui catches a breath as he draws within sight of the couch but Kaga doesn’t angle his head to look at the other; he shuts his eyes instead, surrendering to the wave of dizziness that comes with the dark rather than facing the concern he knows will be printed clear across Tsutsui’s face.

“Oh Kaga,” Tsutsui breathes, and his voice is nearly as bad as his expression would be, soft and gentle in a way Kaga knows he doesn’t deserve, knows he has done nothing at all to earn or maintain. His stomach twists, his throat tightens. He doesn’t open his eyes. “Have you been out here all night?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Kaga says shortly, in the harsh tone that Tsutsui doesn’t deserve any more than Kaga deserves the other’s sympathy. “It’s fine.”

“Kaga,” Tsutsui sighs, and then there’s a touch at Kaga’s forehead, fingers skimming his skin to press against his hairline. Kaga’s eyes come open in a rush and he jerks sideways and away from Tsutsui’s hand; but Tsutsui is already snatching his hand back, his forehead creasing hard on exactly the concern Kaga didn’t want to see. “You’re clammy.”

“Fuck off,” Kaga tells him. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” There’s a strange force under Tsutsui’s voice, an insistent edge Kaga’s never heard before; he sounds certain of himself, steady like he never used to, and Kaga doesn’t dare look up to meet his eyes. “You need to see a doctor.”

“I can’t,” Kaga says immediately. “I have a game today.”

“Tomorrow then,” Tsutsui fires back. “This evening. I’ll make you an appointment.”

“I can get myself to the doctor if I want to,” Kaga snaps. “Don’t you have work tonight anyway? You’re not going to be back until midnight.”

“I’ll tell them my roommate is ill,” Tsutsui says without a trace of hesitation. Kaga has no defense at all for the way that impersonal noun makes his shoulders hunch any more than he can support the ache in him that wants to hear something else from Tsutsui’s lips instead, that wants a title to match the shattered heat he won from Tsutsui’s throat last night. It’s not as if Tsutsui is doing anything Kaga hasn’t pushed him into, not as if Kaga would let him frame their relationship as anything else if he tried; but Kaga’s head is spinning, and his stomach is twisting, and for just a moment he feels the distance of _roommate_ as if it’s a pointed rejection, as if it’s not the same word he would use to describe Tsutsui to someone else. “This is more important.”

“Fuck,” Kaga growls. “Stop fretting, I’m not going to keel over from some stupid cold.”

“It’s not just a cold,” Tsutsui says, and he still sounds like himself, still sounds soft and fragile and breakable, but there’s no shift in his tone now from when he first spoke. It’s as if Kaga’s resistance isn’t happening at all, or isn’t landing home, as if Tsutsui has set himself onto a path and is steadfastly ignoring all distractions. “You’ve been getting sicker for months, Kaga. You _collapsed_ last night, you passed out as soon as you stood up. I’m worried about you.”

Kaga hesitates for a moment. It would be easy to tell Tsutsui to fuck off, to tell him to not call anyone; in the worst case Kaga could just stay out late tonight, could linger at the tournament location or at a bar until closing time and the possibility of Tsutsui dragging him to the doctor is a moot point entirely. It’s not like Tsutsui could _make_ him do anything anyway; if it came down to it Kaga has the advantage of height and weight, any kind of physical force is entirely out of the question. He should refuse, should hold to his stubborn rejection of the idea and just force Tsutsui to see his way of thinking; but he looks sideways instead, shifting his gaze from the fixed stare he has at the ceiling to meet Tsutsui’s eyes. Tsutsui’s gaze is dark with concern, his forehead creased on worry; Kaga can all but imagine the clench of his hands at his sides, can all but see the tremor of tension across his shoulders. But his mouth is set, his lips pressed tight together with more strength under them than Kaga knew the other had, and they don’t give at all as Kaga stares at them. Kaga’s focus catches at the dip at the top of Tsutsui’s upper lip, clings to the soft curve of the lower, and for just a moment, lifting itself from the hangover haze and painful blur around his vision, there’s a single clear thought of _I want to kiss him_ without even the faintest hope of intoxication to cover it up. Kaga’s throat tightens, his chest aches; and he has to turn sideways and away, twisting on the couch to lie on his side so all Tsutsui can see of him is the wall of his shoulders.

“Fine,” he says, his voice harsh and strained over emotion that he hopes at least passes for irritation. “Do whatever you want.”

He hears Tsutsui’s exhale of relief, hears “Thank you, Kaga” going resonant with sincerity on Tsutsui’s tongue. He doesn’t turn. He doesn’t deserve the gratitude on Tsutsui’s face any more than he deserves the thanks the other is offering him.


	20. Right

Tsutsui doesn’t go back with Kaga when they get to the doctor’s office.

He wants to. There’s a part of him that is demanding possessiveness, that insists that he has as good a right as anyone to go back and find out what is causing those bouts of weakness that drop Kaga to the floor or glaze over his vision into unseeing blankness for spans of seconds that feel like hours for how entirely they undo Tsutsui’s composure. He thinks he’s noticing the symptoms as much as Kaga, maybe more so; and after all he’s the one who brought them here, who called a taxi to drop them off rather than letting Kaga drive them on his scooter as he suggested. Tsutsui would rather not run the risk of one of those blank episodes hitting while they’re at a stopsign, or worse in the middle of traffic; he doesn’t even know what he would do if Kaga went as bonelessly limp as he did last night, when he dropped to the floor as gracelessly as if all his personal control over his body had abruptly ceased. The memory makes Tsutsui shiver in retroactive concern where he’s sitting alone in the waiting room, and that’s all he has to occupy his mind while he waits for Kaga to emerge with whatever verdict the doctor will offer him.

It takes a while. In actual fact it’s less than an hour, a far shorter period of time than Tsutsui was afraid of; but it’s more than enough for him to talk himself into and out of panic multiple times, to fear the worst and hope for the best and convince himself that both his hope and fear are unfounded. Finally he leans in over his knees, and folds his hands into steadiness around each other, and stares at his fingers while he reaches back into memory for the last game of Go he played with Kaga, for the pattern of the stones falling across the board to outline the reckless strategy at which Kaga always so excelled and that ever eluded Tsutsui himself. It’s been years since he thought of it in any detail beyond the bright of Kaga’s smile and the shift of his fingers on the Go stones; it’s more pleasant than Tsutsui expected to call up the pattern of the game itself and see the outline of their own selves in the alignment of the pieces on the board. He hadn’t realized his tutoring was improving his eye for such things, or perhaps it was his time playing in high school that did it; but now he can see the traces of Kaga’s aggression in the way he laid the stones on the board, can see the imprint of his own childhood uncertainty in the array of his own pieces. It’s like looking at a photograph, like recalling the past with picture-perfect clarity rather than through the usual haze of memory, and it has him smiling down at his hands when there’s a voice, “Glad you’re having a good time,” so harsh and rough from alongside him that Tsutsui jumps with surprise before he recognizes the speaker.

“Kaga!” His hands unfold, he pushes to his feet in a rush; Kaga is staring at him, his mouth drawn down into a frown and his eyes dark with something Tsutsui can’t make out into clarity. “Are you--what did the doctor say? Are you alright? What’s going on?”

Kaga looks away from Tsutsui’s gaze, breaking their eye contact as he jerks his head towards the front of the office. “I have to pick up a prescription,” he says, and that’s not an answer but it is a wall, the words falling like bricks to close off this line of questioning. Tsutsui shuts his mouth and blinks, and Kaga is turning away without waiting for him to follow, striding away towards the front counter and leaving Tsutsui to trail silently in his wake.

They don’t talk while they’re waiting for the prescription. Kaga speaks to the cashier, and comes out to sit in the seat next to Tsutsui, but he doesn’t offer eye contact again, and when Tsutsui glances at him the set of the other’s jaw is more than enough to dissuade any attempt at even casual conversation he might make. He wants to ask, wants to know: what is it that’s wrong, will the medication make it better, will Kaga be alright? But he can’t find voice for the words, he lacks the strength to break the weight of the silence that has fallen over then, and then the cashier calls Kaga back up to the front and Kaga goes without speaking. He lingers for several minutes, paying for the medication and then speaking in low tones with the pharmacist; and then he turns back, barely glancing at Tsutsui before heading for the door without waiting for the other to catch him up. Tsutsui has to rush after him, nearly stumbling in his haste, and Kaga is waiting by the front door for him, holding the weight of it open and looking back with pointed patience in his expression. Usually Tsutsui would offer an apology, or hurry to take the weight of the door from Kaga himself; but there’s almost relief in him at seeing the judgment in Kaga’s gaze, as if the other’s dismissive frustration is more a comfort under the present circumstances than anything else. Tsutsui is smiling when he catches at the door, when he says “Thanks. Sorry” in quick succession, and even when Kaga rolls his eyes and takes the lead out onto the sidewalk Tsutsui follows with some measure of lightness in his chest at this proof that things can’t be _all_ that bad after all. He has to jog a handful of steps to bring his stride into alignment with Kaga’s, and Kaga makes no attempt to slow for him; but as Tsutsui draws alongside him the other extends the paper bag in his hand without speaking or even looking sideways to make eye contact.

Tsutsui takes it uncertainly, pressing his fingers to the weight of the paper around the bottle inside. The crinkle of the paper collapsing feels startlingly loud. “What…?”

“Look at it,” Kaga says, drawing his hand away again to stuff into his pocket instead. “That’s what you want to know, right?”

“I just--”

“I don’t care,” Kaga says, his gaze still fixed straight ahead. “You can know. It’s fine.”

He doesn’t sound like it’s fine. He doesn’t _look_ like it’s fine. He’s staring in front of him with such absolute focus that Tsutsui is sure he’s not really seeing anything at all, that the intention of his gaze is more to avoid meeting Tsutsui’s than from anything of real interest to look at. But his jaw is set into an unbreakable line, and his mouth is pressed shut as if he never intends to speak again, and Tsutsui isn’t sure he’ll be able to get any kind of direct answer out of Kaga and he’s cold with panic, he can feel all his skin prickling into concern at what could possibly be wrong to cause such a reaction, and the bag in his hands promises an answer of some kind, even if it’s not the one he wants.

There’s just one bottle inside when he opens it, the plastic of the container papered over with a whole array of stickers with various warnings to not take with certain kinds of food or with alcohol. Tsutsui ignores those, pushing them aside so he can see the main name of the medication; but it’s unintelligible, a long array of medical terminology he doesn’t understand. It’s only underneath it, in print so small he has to squint to read, that he makes out the relevant information: “anticonvulsant,” and “take daily” with the weight of command behind the simple text.

Tsutsui looks back up at Kaga. “Anticonvulsant?” he says, understanding starting to unfold in his mind. “Are you--”

“Turns out I’ve been having seizures,” Kaga says, still without turning his head or meeting Tsutsui’s gaze. His hands are in his pockets, but Tsutsui can see the tension of tight-curled fingers running all up the line of his bare arm to the hunch of shoulders under his t-shirt. “It’s epilepsy. They’re going to try me on that and see if they go away.” His shoulders come up higher, the corners of his mouth pull down lower. “I’ll have to take that every damn day.”

Tsutsui blinks hard. “Oh, Kaga.”

“It’s like you said,” Kaga says, his voice harsh enough to override the soft ache of sympathy under Tsutsui’s voice. “Something _is_ wrong with me.” He turns his head then, finally, looking to Tsutsui alongside him with so much hardness behind his eyes that Tsutsui’s fingers clench tighter around the bottle in his hand as if in some ill-defined need for self-defense. “You can be proud of yourself, you were right all along.”

Tsutsui thinks this might be the first time Kaga has ever admitted he was right in anything. With the unassuming weight of the medication in his hand and Kaga’s eyes dark with unhappiness, Tsutsui thinks he would really prefer to have been wrong again.


	21. Drown

“Really, Kaga,” Tsutsui says from where his hesitant footsteps have stalled him at the far end of the couch. “You’re not supposed to be drinking, are you?”

“Don’t be such a stickler for the rules,” Kaga snaps, extending a hand in unspoken demand for the bottle in Tsutsui’s uncertain hold. “All medications say that, it’s not like it really makes a difference. It’s not like side effects affect everyone anyway.”

“Sometimes they _do_ make a difference,” Tsutsui protests, but he’s extending the bottle anyway, capitulating to the force of Kaga’s gesture even if the soft of his mouth is drawn down into a hesitant frown. Kaga’s attention catches to the part of shadow just between Tsutsui’s lips, to the damp of moisture clinging to the corner of his mouth where he must have touched his tongue, and his blood goes hotter in his veins, his body stirring itself to interest while his hand is still closing on the condensation-cool of the bottle in Tsutsui’s fingers. “Are you sure it’s just because of side effects?”

Kaga drags the bottle free of Tsutsui’s hold and waves his free hand to push aside the weight of the other’s concern. “So I’ll get a little dizzy from a couple beers. Whatever.” He lifts the open bottle to his mouth and tips it back to spill a rush of carbonation over his tongue. The cool of the drink is soothing in a way nothing else about today has been, like it’s already taking the edge off the sudden stress added to his life by his new diagnosis; he downs half the bottle on his first pull, emerges breathless and sighing relief at the satisfaction of the taste on his tongue. “It’s not like I’m going to be driving tonight.” He huffs a sharp, humorless laugh and punctuates with another swallow of beer. “Or any night, really.”

“It’s not the end of the world,” Tsutsui tells him, softly, as if the volume of his voice is likely to carry anything harder to hear than what Kaga has already faced down today. He comes around the end of the couch to settle himself carefully against the cushions on the other end, a span of feet away from Kaga, folds his hands on his lap and tips his head down to frown at them. “It’s not a death sentence.”

“Whatever,” Kaga says, picking at the edge of the label on the beer bottle and trying to not look sideways at the hunch of Tsutsui’s shoulders, at the curve of his spine, at the set weight of his fingers tangling around each other. The effect of the beer is still minutes distant, still just a hum of premonition and anticipation in the back of Kaga’s head, but he can feel arousal rising in his veins as if it’s been called by the taste, like it’s just waiting permission to be set free to shudder through his body. He wonders if Tsutsui is thinking of that too, wonders if Tsutsui is waiting for Kaga to reach some token level of intoxication with the same breathless anticipation Kaga feels. He wonders if Tsutsui is hard inside his pants, if he could feel the heat of the other if he reached out to press his hand against the fabric. He upends the bottle and gulps another desperate swallow of the liquid inside and the excuse it offers. “It’s bad enough. I’m entitled to drown my troubles for the night, at least.”

Tsutsui’s frown deepens, settling in at the corners of his mouth as he stares down at his hands. “I don’t think that’s the best approach.”

Kaga rolls his eyes. “I didn’t ask for your opinion on my life decisions, did I?” He downs the last of the beer and pushes to his feet while he’s still swallowing the bitter liquid back off his tongue. “I’m getting another.”

There are another handful of beers in the fridge, when Kaga goes to look; the smooth shine of the bottles under the familiar texture of the label is enough to promise him an evening hazy with the relief of intoxication, the alcohol offering an escape that Kaga feels the need for deep in his bones, even if it’s only for the night, even if it’s only for an hour. He’ll get himself drunk, drunk enough that he doesn’t have to think about the level tone of the doctor’s voice announcing his diagnosis and won’t have to think about the bottle of pills one less, now, than it was when the pharmacist passed it over the counter; he’ll drink past the sour weight of guilt in his stomach for the things he’s done to Tsutsui, for the lies he’s told himself, for the want so painfully bright in him that all the years of effort he has spent to repress it have done nothing but make it shine the brighter. He’ll drink until he doesn’t care, and then he’ll lose himself in the warm tremor of Tsutsui’s body submitting under his own, and in the morning he’ll deal with the ramifications of his actions and the hangover that will go with them all.

He drinks the second beer standing in the kitchen, staring unseeing at the fridge door and swallowing faster as he feels the shiver of intoxication begin to work in his veins and tremble flushed electricity down his spine. By the time he’s reaching for the third to take out to the living room with him he can feel the hum of lightheadedness creeping over his thoughts to push everything about the present far-off and distant. The walk back to the other room stretches long, like time itself is going slower, and when he comes around the corner Tsutsui is looking back at him, his forehead creasing on worry and his lips parted on concern.

“Kaga,” he breathes, relief as audible in his tone as it is washing across his expression. “You were gone a while, I was about to come and check on you.”

“To what, make sure I hadn’t collapsed on the kitchen floor?” Kaga snaps. “Stop making such a fuss over a couple minutes.” He swallows a mouthful of the beer in his hand and drops to sit heavily on the couch alongside Tsutsui; he’s close enough that their knees touch when he leans forward to set the beer on the table. “You’ve got to learn to lighten up, you know.”

Tsutsui is still frowning, still gazing at Kaga with that focus in his eyes that Kaga can’t stand to have turned on him. “You really might have,” he says, his voice trembling but loud enough to leave no question of his attention to this subject. “That’s not something to joke about, you _did_ pass out yesterday.”

“Fuck,” Kaga groans, “You talk too much,” and he’s leaning in and reaching out to press his hand to the back of Tsutsui’s head and hold the other still for the press of his mouth. Tsutsui goes stiff at the contact, his shoulders tensing and his mouth coming open on shock, and it’s not intended as an invitation but Kaga takes it anyway, licking in against the heat of Tsutsui’s parted lips so he can taste the heat off the other’s tongue. Tsutsui whimpers something, like he’s trying to give voice to words stalled out at Kaga’s mouth, and Kaga pulls back for a minute as his vision spins, as his head begins to pound with the start of pressure weighting painfully at his temples.

“Kaga,” Tsutsui gasps as Kaga pulls back, his breathing coming fast and his hand coming out to grab at Kaga’s shoulder, to press his fingers against the line of the other’s shirt. “I. We should--”

“Stop talking,” Kaga growls, and he means it as a command but it breaks in his throat, unravels itself somehow until it spills from his lips with a strange, aching force on it. He wants to say he doesn’t mean it as a plea, wants to come back from the edge of desperation he can hear in his throat; but he doesn’t know how to reel his voice back to stability, and Tsutsui’s eyes are going wide behind his glasses, his lips are parting onto the beginnings of some unvoiced sympathy. Kaga doesn’t want his sympathy, doesn’t want his pity; but Tsutsui is nodding, his gaze dropping in overt surrender, and when Kaga leans back in Tsutsui lifts his chin to meet the press of the other’s mouth against his lips. His hand at Kaga’s shoulder slides sideways, comes up to tangle fingers into the other’s hair, and Kaga’s head is pounding but he ignores it the same way he ignores the odd lightheaded rush of the beer he’s drunk that is making him feel distant and detached from the world. Better to shove Tsutsui back against the couch, to pin him to the support at his back with one hand while Kaga pushes another up under the loose of his shirt, better to turn and press his knees to the cushion under him so he can slide in closer, so he can get his hips pressed flush against Tsutsui’s under him. Kaga’s head is ringing, now, the sound humming loud enough to drown out the faint sounds of heat in Tsutsui’s throat he can feel vibrating against his lips, but that’s fine, it doesn’t matter, he doesn’t have to hear the other to feel the way Tsutsui trembles under him in time with the push of Kaga’s hand over the bare skin of his chest. Kaga’s going to strip his jeans off, he thinks dizzily, going to get his fingers in against Tsutsui’s cock and jerk him off fast so he’s still breathless with heat when Kaga comes closer to straddle Tsutsui’s chest and press the heat of his cock against the damp part of Tsutsui’s mouth, to slide in over the warm wet of his lips the same way he’s licking into the other’s mouth right now. He’ll do it, he thinks, forcing the thoughts past the thud of pain at his temples, his headache will fade and--

\-- the world tipping, gravity skidding --

\-- his hands flexing, his shoulders tensing, his whole body jerking so taut he can’t breathe, he can’t think, he can’t --

And everything, even Tsutsui, flickers to black.

 

It’s the weight Kaga feels first.

His whole body feels drained, achy, as if he had run a marathon and entirely forgotten about the strain of it settling into his bones and blood. It’s an effort to open his eyes, a struggle to take a breath; he feels the ache in his chest, in his chest, spanning out until he can feel every individual finger pressing against the floor like some impossible weight he’s too shaky-weak to lift. His lashes shift, his eyes open slowly; and over him, a desperate skid of sound, “ _Kaga_ ” in a tone Kaga’s never heard from Tsutsui’s lips before.

“Jesus,” he manages. He’d never realized, before, how much physical exertion is needed for speech. “Calm down.”

“Kaga,” Tsutsui says again, and Kaga tips his head incrementally to the side, his vision hazing with the action before coming to some measure of clarity on Tsutsui’s face. He’s leaning over Kaga, the glow of the light behind him aching pain into Kaga’s thoughts; Kaga realizes he’s on some flat surface, that he’s lying on his back on something too uncomfortable to be the couch. That seems wrong, seems like he should be somewhere else, like he _was_ somewhere else; but his head spikes pain when he tries to reach for the memory, stabbing hurt out into his thoughts until he flinches from the attempt and closes his eyes, and there’s a touch at his hair, fingers feathering into the strands to smooth them back and away from his face as Tsutsui takes a hiccuping inhale over him. “It’s okay, just stay still, it’s going to be alright.”

“Of course it is,” Kaga grates. His chest is still aching. Speech is a struggle. “What happened?”

“You--” Tsutsui starts, and then his voice breaks off so sharply that Kaga opens his eyes again just for what insight the other’s expression will offer him. Tsutsui’s eyes are wet, they overflow with tears even as Kaga blinks up at him; his whole face is wet, Kaga realizes, his cheeks damp with the tracks of emotion he hasn’t bothered to wipe off. It’s proof of a gap of time larger than Kaga had expected, longer than he realized; he grimaces at the thought, attempting the weight of a frown and not sure his expression manages anything other than slack exhaustion.

Tsutsui closes his mouth, swallows back a wave of emotion; when he takes another inhale it catches in his throat and stutters audibly, but his voice is clear enough when he speaks. “You had another seizure.”

There’s more to it than that. Collapsing alone wouldn’t be enough to make Tsutsui dissolve so completely into tears, a few lost seconds wouldn’t account for the tremor in the fingers he’s still sliding through Kaga’s hair. But Kaga doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want to know why Tsutsui is so sure of this diagnosis, so he stays quiet while Tsutsui struggles himself through another deliberate inhale. “I called an ambulance, they should be here soon. Just stay still and breathe, okay?”

“Yeah,” Kaga says. _I’m fine_ , is what he’d like to insist. _I don’t need to go to the hospital_. But he can’t get the words out -- the shape of the lie is too much, even for him -- so he clears his throat instead and says “Stop crying,” with as much rough command as he can manage on the back of his tongue.

Tsutsui nods. “Yes,” he says, and lifts a hand to swipe at tears that are replaced with new ones as fast as he sweeps them aside. “It’s fine.”

It’s not fine. Kaga’s not sure anything will ever be fine again. But his head is spinning too much for him to think, and his body is aching too much for him to move, and so he shuts his eyes and lets Tsutsui’s fingers stroke through his hair in counterpoint to the catch of the other’s continued hiccuping sobs.

He thinks he’d like to stay down a little longer before he has to rise to the surface.


	22. Fragile

The apartment is quiet when Tsutsui gets home from classes.

He thinks, at first, that Kaga might be asleep. The other looked exhausted when they got him home this morning and was shaky enough on his feet that he had to hold Tsutsui’s shoulder for the walk from the taxi to the front door. By the time they were inside Kaga beelined for his bedroom without pausing to take off his shoes, and Tsutsui had left him collapsed atop the tangle of his bedsheets face-down and with his shoulders hunched on enough tension to repel even the idea of any further comfort. Tsutsui had to go to class -- he can’t afford to miss a day of lecture at this point in the year -- but he’s not sure how valuable his attendance was in any case, not when he spent the whole of his lectures worrying about Kaga anyway. There was no contact from the other, either direct text messages or responses to the few queries Tsutsui sent throughout the day, and by the time he makes it back with the sunlight dimming to orange across the sky he wonders if Kaga has managed to slip into the rest his expression so clearly indicated he needed. He’s thinking about it as he slips his shoes off in the doorway, careful as he pads down the hallway in consideration of the possibility; Kaga’s door is still cracked open, and Tsutsui is delicate about pushing it wider, just in case the other is still lost to dreams. But Kaga is awake after all, lying on his back over the mattress with an arm angled over his forehead and staring blankly at the ceiling, and that makes Tsutsui hesitate in the doorway, suddenly uncertain of his welcome.

Kaga doesn’t look at him, doesn’t shift at all to acknowledge his presence, but: “Could you get me a glass of water?” he asks, his voice flat and strange stripped of its usual burden of aggressive force. He doesn’t move the arm he has shadowing his eyes, doesn’t shift the fingers splayed idly across his stomach; but there’s no question of his request, even if he looks entirely unaware of Tsutsui’s presence otherwise.

“Oh,” Tsutsui says, in a strangely soft voice he doesn’t completely intend. It seems suited to the stillness of the room, as if it’s a sickbed or far later at night than it is in truth. “Yes. I’ll be right back.”

He runs the water cold, hesitating over the possibility of adding ice; but the apartment is comfortably cool already, and Kaga rarely bothers with ice except on the very hottest of summer days, so Tsutsui leaves it and comes back to the half-open bedroom door with glass in hand. Kaga’s still right where Tsutsui left him; he hasn’t shifted at all in the few minutes the other has been gone. Tsutsui wonders if he’s moved at all since this morning.

“Here,” he offers from the doorway, extending the glass slightly as if to indicate what he’s brought with him. “Where do you--”

“Bring it here,” Kaga tells him without giving Tsutsui time to finish his thought. Tsutsui pauses, feeling like he’s crossing some kind of critical barrier; but then Kaga shifts on the bed, sliding his elbow down under himself as he starts to turn sideways to sit up, and Tsutsui moves forward reflexively, his free hand reaching out as if to offer support. Kaga doesn’t really need the help by the time Tsutsui reaches him -- he’s all but upright over the sheets already -- but Tsutsui still touches his fingertips to the other’s shoulder, still braces his hand against Kaga’s arm as he drops to his knees in front of the other’s bed.

“Here,” he says again, offering the glass of water for Kaga. “Can you hold it?”

“Jesus fuck,” Kaga sighs. “Yes, I can hold a glass of water, I’m not an invalid.” His voice is weaker than it usually is, even the edge of the curses on his tongue falling shaky without their familiar force; when he reaches out for the glass Tsutsui can see his fingers trembling, can feel the uncertainty of the other’s grip on the cup. There’s a moment when they’re both bracing the glass; then Kaga’s forehead creases, his mouth draws into a frown, and he pulls the cup free of Tsutsui’s hold with enough force to slosh the water against the inside edge.

“I’m fine,” he says again without meeting Tsutsui’s gaze as he lifts the cup to his mouth. His first swallow is tentative, like he’s not quite sure of the motion; the second is steadier, gaining certainty as his hold on the cup steadies, and Tsutsui can feel some of the stress in his shoulders ease as Kaga’s hesitant motion stabilizes.

“How are you feeling?” Tsutsui ventures as Kaga finishes half the water and lowers it to take a breath that sounds as difficult as the motion to lift the cup was.

“Awful,” Kaga says, his voice dragging as if to underline the claim. “I feel like I fell down a whole flight of stairs and have a godawful hangover.” He tips his head forward and draws his arm free of Tsutsui’s hold to press a hand to his forehead. “Everything is like it’s happening really far away.”

Tsutsui grimaces. “Maybe I should call the doctor again.”

Kaga jerks his head into negation. “Don’t bother.” He swallows another mouthful of water. “They said I’d feel like shit for a few days. Nothing they can do about it other than give me pain meds.”

“Do you want some?”

“Took some while you were gone.” Kaga swallows the last of the water and shoves the empty glass towards Tsutsui. The weight of it smacks against Tsutsui’s chest, his hand comes up involuntarily to catch at it, and Kaga’s gaze skips up to his face for the first time since Tsutsui came into the room. His eyes are dark, his lashes dipping heavy over the color like he’s struggling to hold them up; his lips are chapped, his whole expression dragging on exhaustion. Tsutsui wonders if he really did take any pain meds, wonders if he moved out of bed at all; Kaga looks like he’s struggling to sit upright, as if it’s only absolute force of will that has brought him this far from horizontal in the first place. There’s a moment of quiet, the both of them staring at each other from a too-close range; Tsutsui wonders what Kaga is reading off his own expression, if the other can see the affection aching inside Tsutsui’s chest as clearly as the worry he’s sure is painted clear behind his eyes.

Tsutsui clears his throat. His fingers tighten against the glass. “Do you want more water?”

Kaga’s gaze flickers down, his eyes landing at Tsutsui’s lips as if he’s reading the words off the other’s mouth. His lashes flutter, his mouth shifts; for a brief, shocking heartbeat Tsutsui thinks Kaga’s about to kiss him, that he’s about to lean in over the gap between them and press his mouth to Tsutsui’s even absent the bitter tang of alcohol catching to his tongue. But then Kaga looks away, his gaze sliding off Tsutsui’s face to drag idly over the tangle of the sheets next to him, and when he says “No,” he sounds as tired as if he’s about to collapse back to the bed the moment Tsutsui turns his back.

“Okay.” Tsutsui gets to his feet slowly; he wants to stall, wants to urge Kaga back down to the bed and stroke the dark of the other’s hair back from his face, wants to settle the warm comfort of a kiss against Kaga’s set mouth or the crease of pain in his forehead. But it might not be a comfort, he thinks, it might just be yet another source of stress, so he stands up instead, and when he moves his hands it’s to clasp the glass of water between both palms instead of giving in to the urge to reach out for Kaga’s hair. “Do you want me to shut the door?”

Kaga shrugs. “It’s fine like it is,” he says. He’s leaning sideways towards the bed, tipping himself down like he can’t quite stay upright; Tsutsui lets him go, turning away to move towards the half-open door so he can leave Kaga to the peace of solitude again. It’s just as he’s reaching to touch the edge of the frame and slip through that Kaga speaks again, “Tsutsui” slow and so quiet it’s almost a whisper.

Tsutsui stops immediately and looks back to where Kaga is lying on his side across his bed staring at the wall. “Yes?”

“Thanks.” Kaga’s not looking at Tsutsui; he’s looking straight ahead, his eyes fixed with complete attention on the other side of the room. It’s as if Tsutsui isn’t there, like Kaga’s speaking to the open air instead of to the other person in the room with him; but Tsutsui’s throat still goes tight, his chest still tenses on sudden emotion he can’t find an outlet for.

“Of course,” he says, matching that soft almost-whisper of Kaga’s tone. “I’m glad to help.”

Kaga doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t even shift to acknowledge Tsutsui’s voice. He just stays still, lying over his bed like he’s too bone-deep tired to even lift his head, and after another moment of watching him Tsutsui turns back to the door and slips out into the hallway.

The curve of the glass is warm against his palms.


	23. Voice

Kaga hates his medication.

There aren’t any major side effects. The only real change it seems to have on his body is to smooth off the rough edge of the headaches that have apparently been forewarnings for the brief seizures that have been stealing his consciousness for the span of minutes at a time for the last several weeks, and Kaga has no problem at all with seeing those gone. But every day when he opens the bottle of pills he has to look at the label stuck to the side warning against alcohol consumption, and every day taking his daily dose feels like taking a vow of celibacy. By the end of the first week his headaches are gone, his dizziness has evaporated, and he hasn’t touched Tsutsui at all except accidentally, when they pass too close by each other in the hallway or when Kaga hands over a stack of plates after dinner and Tsutsui’s fingers brush his. He thinks, sometimes, about drawing those moments long, about constructing some excuse just for a few extra seconds of physical contact; and then the nausea hits, carried on guilt this time instead of alcohol, and he retreats to his bedroom to lean back against the locked door and try to fight back the reaction he can feel like flame running all through his veins. He can’t escape the heat in him any more than he can deny it, though he tries both; without the buffer of intoxication in him he can’t even take action to gain temporary satisfaction in the gentle surrender of Tsutsui’s body under his. Any attempt he takes at solo relief is so unsatisfying it just leaves him more frustrated than before, and all his fantasies of vaguely feminine forms with unclear faces have dissolved past the point of return. He thinks he might gain some satisfaction if he could let himself slip into memory, if he could pull up the recollection of Tsutsui’s face going slack with heat and the sound of Tsutsui’s voice breaking over the shape of Kaga’s name; but then the guilt sweeps through him, too sour and miserable to allow him even this indulgence, and in the end he goes to stand in yet another of the cold showers that are becoming a more-than-daily routine for him.

He thinks about drinking, too. Tsutsui is gone for much of the day, between classes and tutoring, and Kaga’s commute to matches is long enough now with the removal of his motorcycle license that he has more than enough excuse to explain away an extra hour or two of lost time. He could stop by a bar, or even a convenience store, could down a beer or two and ease the unbearable pressure that weights over the back of his thoughts; but then he thinks of Tsutsui, of the catch of the other’s breathing on sobs of relief and the damp of tears shining on his cheeks as he leaned in over Kaga after the other’s last seizure, and however impossible bearing the burden alone may seem making Tsutsui cry like that is a true barrier that Kaga can’t face even in his imagination. So he goes home to the dark of the empty apartment and the cold of his empty bed, and he stares out into the gathering dusk of evening and wonders how long his restraint will last.

The answer, as it turns out, is about two weeks.

Tsutsui is out later than usual. Kaga hasn’t made an effort to memorize the other’s schedule -- it’s not like it ought to make a difference to him when his roommate comes home -- but without the distraction of a beer to while away the hours he knows, now, when Tsutsui usually arrives, and knows that it’s almost two hours past that by the time he hears the click of a key in the front door. Tsutsui’s careful coming in, stepping with the delicate tread that comes with the late hours of the evening, as if he really thinks Kaga’s not still awake; it makes Kaga scowl unseen, makes him speak up at once.

“You’re home late,” he calls from the kitchen, pitching his voice deliberately louder to override the care Tsutsui is showing at the door. “What happened?”

There’s a pause, the silence speaking to Tsutsui hesitating at the entryway. “Kaga,” he says, and Kaga can hear the brief rustle of resumed movement. “I didn’t think you were still up.”

“Sorry to spoil your attempt at sneaking in late,” Kaga snaps. Tsutsui emerges from the hallway, his cheeks flushed from the chill of the night air and his hair tousled by the wind or by anxious fingers; Kaga only glances at him for a moment before he turns to stare fixedly out the window again. “Hoping to have a good time on your own for once?”

“What?” Tsutsui asks, sounding more than a little confused. “No. Tutoring went long and I missed the last direct train and had to wait for the connection.” He comes closer to the table, unwinding the dark of his scarf from around his neck to drape carefully over the back of the other chair before he sits down and starts unbuttoning his coat. “If I had known you were waiting up I would have called.”

“I wasn’t waiting up,” Kaga growls. “I don’t care what you were doing.”

Tsutsui glances up at Kaga, meeting the other’s gaze for just a moment before he looks away and shrugs his jacket down and off his shoulders. “It was just work.”

Kaga can feel his shoulders tense, can feel the weight of strain building to impossible levels over the last few weeks cresting along the length of his spine and pressing to sharp-edged adrenaline at the back of his thoughts. Tsutsui’s not meeting his gaze; he had his chin ducked down so Kaga can’t see his expression as he folds the jacket over his lap with deliberate attention. He twists in his chair, turning to drape the coat over the back of the frame; and Kaga’s gaze catches at the side of his neck, at a faint mark of red like a rash or the print of lingering heat on the other’s skin. Suspicion whips through him, latches hard around the curl of his fingers into fists, and when he growls “ _What’s that_ ” he doesn’t recognize his own voice for the low hiss on the sound.

Tsutsui lifts his head, his eyes wide and unsuspicious. “What?”

“ _That_ ,” Kaga snaps, and he’s pushing forward out of his chair, reaching out over the distance of the table to grab at the collar of Tsutsui’s shirt. Tsutsui hisses an inhale, his whole body canting forward in response to the drag of Kaga’s touch, but Kaga doesn’t hesitate; the strain in him has broken free, it’s tensing his fingers into a fist on Tsutsui’s shirt while he slides his thumb in up the curve of the other’s bare neck and to the faint red mark. “The fuck, Tsutsui, can’t your _employer_ be a little more restrained about the marks she leaves?”

“What?” Tsutsui gasps. He has a hand thrown out to brace against the tabletop, has his whole weight tipped forward in immediate surrender to Kaga’s touch, and Kaga can feel his blood burn like fire in his veins, can feel the satisfaction of Tsutsui’s submission flare electricity up the whole length of his spine. “What are you _talking_ about?”

“Or no,” Kaga spits. “You wouldn’t go back to a woman now, would you? Did you stop off at some bar on the way home? Got tired of spending your evenings without any fun and thought you’d see who you could seduce with a drink?” The red is fading under Kaga’s touch -- it’s not the bruised-in bite mark he thought it was in the first flare of unwarranted jealousy -- but his imagination is reeling, now, spiraling itself down into possibility without needing the least help from the alcohol he hasn’t had in days. “Did you let him fuck you in the bathroom, Tsutsui, with his hand over your mouth so no one would hear you moan like a whore? Did you even bother to ask his name?”

“ _Stop_ ,” Tsutsui snaps, and his hand comes sideways, his arm swinging with surprising force to shove Kaga’s touch away from his neck. Kaga’s thumb slips away, his grip on Tsutsui’s shirt pulling the fabric off-center before he lets it go, but Tsutsui doesn’t reach to straighten it to cover the line of his collarbone under the neckline. He’s staring up at Kaga, his eyes dark and his mouth set, and his eyes are shining with tears but his lips are steady, his frown doesn’t show the least sign of trembling. “I didn’t go to a _bar_. I didn’t sleep with anyone, my employer or otherwise. The last person who touched me was _you_.” Kaga is breathless, his heart is pounding itself to frantic panic inside his chest, but there’s no slur of alcohol to soften the blow of memory, this time, and Tsutsui is still talking, still setting out words like the last moves of some game Kaga didn’t realize he was playing until the conclusion settled around him. “You never talk about it and you don’t _have_ to talk about it but I didn’t sleep with you on accident, and I didn’t _keep_ sleeping with you on accident. Don’t act like it’s something I did just because I got drunk, Kaga, I’ve been in love with you since middle school and everything I did I did knowing perfectly well what I was getting into.”

Tsutsui hasn’t moved from his lean over the table, hasn’t lifted a hand to so much as gesture towards Kaga; but Kaga feels like he’s been punched, as if the weight of Tsutsui’s words curled into a fist and slammed low against his ribcage to blow all the air out of his lungs at once. Tsutsui’s voice seems to carry a weight on it, an echo of force to reverberate in the air around them: _what I was getting into_ , and _just because I got drunk_ , and bright over the top, too direct and too clear for Kaga to turn away from: _in love with you_ , clenching tight around his heart like Tsutsui is speaking for him, as if Tsutsui has taken the words Kaga has always tried to turn away from and given them voice on the other’s behalf. There’s no way to turn aside, no way to dodge this, and the thought comes clear too, crystalline and as painfully bright as a headache behind Kaga’s temples: _I love you too_ , the words he hasn’t let himself so much as think over all the years they’ve had together.

“Tsutsui,” he says, his voice cracking in the back of his throat, on anger or tears or relief he can’t tell, or maybe it’s all three together, maybe it’s that the emotion in his chest is spiking too high for him to cut meaningless separations via the edges of words. Tsutsui is still staring up at him, and his mouth is still set like he never intends to relax it; but his eyes are bright with unshed tears, his lashes working overtime to catch the damp back from surrendering to full droplets, and Kaga can’t speak but the pressure in his chest won’t let him breathe either, and the adrenaline crackling all against the length of his spine demands action of some sort. So he moves, blindly, without thinking and without hesitating, his hand coming up to catch and curl around the back of Tsutsui’s head; and Tsutsui’s lashes flutter, and a tear breaks free to trickle across his cheek, but his mouth is easing like all his resistance is melting, like Kaga’s touch is flame enough to undo whatever cold anger was so fixed along his jaw, and when Kaga’s mouth crushes against his Tsutsui makes a helpless whimper of relief that echoes the shudder of satisfaction that runs through all Kaga’s body.

Until he finds voice of his own, Kaga will let Tsutsui speak for the both of them.


	24. Spoken

Kaga is not any gentler sober.

Tsutsui didn’t really expect it of him. He didn’t really expect any of this, honestly; whatever mental contortions Kaga was doing to leave whatever is between them unacknowledged, they clearly required some level of intoxication on his part. After the catastrophic first attempt at drinking post-diagnosis Tsutsui had resigned himself to...whatever Kaga wanted to give him, whatever Kaga was _willing_ to give him, and if he felt the ache of loss against the inside of his chest when he went to his own bedroom alone each night, at least he didn’t have an audience to see. He could settle for this, Tsutsui told himself, could cope with going back to just roommates and just friends and leave the romance between them as some brief foray into the life with Kaga he couldn’t have. But Kaga couldn’t cope, apparently, could no more leave what they had untouched than Tsutsui can leave it unremembered, and whatever he is doing to come to terms with that apparently leaves enough space for the press of his mouth against Tsutsui’s, and the drag of his hands over Tsutsui’s skin, and the weight of his body bearing Tsutsui down against the almost-familiar sheets of the other’s bed. Kaga is rough with his hands, rougher than usual, as if the alcohol smoothed and levelled off some of his natural aggression into a measure of grace; but there’s no grace now, no elegance to the force of his touch as he thrusts lube-slick fingers hard into Tsutsui with no more warning than the weight of his touch against the other’s skin. Tsutsui jerks with the friction, his spine curving into an arc of almost-protest; but he’s gasping for breath, his whole body glowing like he’s coming alive, and he doesn’t tell Kaga to stop, and Kaga doesn’t, just works him open with desperate haste before he draws his hand back and replaces the stretch of his fingers with the heat of his cock. His first thrust is as rough as his touch was, hard enough to skid Tsutsui back over the sheets and to flex his whole body involuntarily tight around the intrusion; but the sound of his whimper comes out as a moan, and his hands reach for Kaga’s hair to pull him closer instead of for his shoulders to push him away, and when Kaga ducks his head in against Tsutsui’s neck Tsutsui can feel his heart speeding in time with the vicious rhythm of the other’s movement into him.

“Fuck,” Kaga is gasping into his shoulder, panting the word like it’s a part of his breathing, like his exhales come easier around the sound than they would unburdened. “Tsutsui, _fuck_ , I missed you.”

“Kaga,” Tsutsui manages, his voice breaking even over the few syllables, and then Kaga drives into him so hard he can feel himself slip over the bed with the impact. The force of it sparks up his spine to white out his vision for a brief moment; when his legs flex hard around Kaga’s hips it’s a reflexive motion more than an attempt to hold himself still. “ _Oh_.”

“Shit,” Kaga groans. His hand slides down Tsutsui’s waist, his fingers dig in hard against the other’s hip. “That felt good, do that again.”

“What?” Tsutsui gasps. “I don’t--” and Kaga thrusts into him again, and his vision flickers incoherent for another span of time, his voice spilling out of him in the form of an unintended moan of heat.

“ _Tsutsui_ ,” Kaga growls again, and moves once more, his fingers tensing at Tsutsui’s hip to hold the other still against the rocking force of his movement. Tsutsui’s hands tighten in the other’s hair, his fingers curling to fists as if that will be enough to hold Kaga still where he is, or maybe to ground out Tsutsui’s own awareness against the dizzying force of Kaga moving into him; but Kaga’s not pulling away anyway, he’s pushing in closer, gasping air against the heat of Tsutsui’s shirt and the side of his neck. “You--you feel so good, why are you--” He breaks off into a gasp, his fingers tensing and then easing at Tsutsui’s hip; his knee slides wider against the mattress, his movements gain force. “Just me?”

Tsutsui isn’t sure what exactly Kaga is referring to; kissing, or sex, or desire, or the love spreading to fill all the inside of his chest until he can barely breathe with it, until he feels like the rush of his heartbeat is going wild with desperation to match the pressure against his ribs. He still doesn’t need to hesitate; the answer is the same in any case, when it comes to Kaga.

“Yes,” he pants, and louder, breaking open against the jolt of Kaga thrusting into him, “ _Ah_ , god, yes, Kaga, just you.”

“Say my name,” Kaga orders, command filling his voice and running through Tsutsui like an electrical current. “Tell me.”

“Just you,” Tsutsui repeats, obedient to Kaga’s demand in this as in everything. His head is spinning, his breathing catching; he feels like he’s being crushed, like every inhale might be his last for the heat and the pressure of Kaga over him, and he doesn’t want to ever be anywhere else. “Tetsuo.”

“ _God_ ,” Kaga groans, his rhythm stuttering out-of-pattern for a moment before he can collect himself. “Fuck, Tsutsui, I love you so much.” Tsutsui’s breath stalls, his eyes go wide, but Kaga isn’t lifting his head; he’s turning in closer instead, tipping his head against Tsutsui’s throat and pressing his mouth hard against the other’s skin. There’s a catch of teeth, the threat of pain for a heartbeat; but the ache unravels to sensation in Tsutsui’s veins, his gasp goes to a groan, and when his hands tighten it’s to pull Kaga in closer against him rather than to push him away.

“Yeah,” Kaga growls, and bites at Tsutsui’s throat again, his teeth catching and scoring an ache that burns to shuddering sensation down Tsutsui’s spine and twitches against his cock caught between Kaga’s hips and his own. His back curves, his body trying to rock up involuntarily towards Kaga, but Kaga’s hand just tightens at his hip, pushing down harder like he thinks Tsutsui is trying to struggle free. “You’re mine. Just mine.” Another drag of teeth, another flare of heat. Tsutsui can feel his breathing catching and shivering in the back of his throat. “You love _me_.”

“I do,” Tsutsui says. “I love you, Tetsuo.”

“You do” and Kaga’s biting him again, his teeth catching just under the line of Tsutsui’s jaw and his lips pressing hot against the other’s skin like he’s trying to tattoo the print of his mouth against Tsutsui’s throat. It must be leaving a mark, Tsutsui can feel the ache of a bruise forming even without needing to see, but he doesn’t care; he tips his head to the side, surrenders the line of his neck to Kaga’s teeth, and Kaga’s leaving a whole chain of marks down his neck, biting and sucking like he wants the feel of Tsutsui’s skin giving way to his teeth just as much as the give of the other’s body opening for the heavy force of his thrusts. He’s breathing harder, Tsutsui can feel it against him, Kaga’s inhales catching hard until they sound almost like sobs, like emotion breaking free of the other’s control to spill hot across Tsutsui’s skin; but Kaga doesn’t lift his head, and Tsutsui is too dazed with heat to try to angle for a glimpse anyway. His eyes are open but he’s not seeing the room around him, not focusing on any of the details of Kaga’s personal life arrayed around the space of the bed; he’s just gazing at the ceiling, the clean white of it as blank as his thoughts, his whole body shaking with rising tension he has no interest in holding back. Kaga’s mouth is at his skin, Kaga’s cock is moving into him, and Tsutsui can feel his awareness of the present moment coming undone, melting into the shape of Kaga’s name framed on his lips, _Tetsuo_ and _love_ repeated over and over in shape if not in sound. He thinks he could stay here forever, hovering just on the cusp of satisfaction without quite breaking over it; and then Kaga says “Shit,” like he’s just thought of something, and his hold at Tsutsui’s hip goes slack, his fingers drag sideways to push between the overheated press of their bodies. “You should--” and his hand closes around Tsutsui’s length, his fingers pressing sudden friction against the heat of flushed skin. Tsutsui’s hips jerk, his whole body trying to buck up towards the weight of Kaga’s hold, and Kaga huffs something incoherent against his shoulder and strokes up over him with more force than care. It’s too much, Tsutsui can feel the burn and the ache of the sudden friction dragging up over him; but he was close already, he was hovering at the edge before Kaga touched him, and the tension straining along his spine inverts what would be pain into heat, into radiance, into a shove to topple him over the breathless _almost_ and into _enough_ all at once. His back arches, his cock jerks, and when he comes it’s with Kaga’s name on his lips breaking into audibility as all the air in his lungs spills from him in a rush of helpless sensation. Over him Kaga is panting, growling “Tsutsui, fuck, yeah, come for me, let me feel you, you feel so good” but Tsutsui can’t answer him even if he had the words for it; all he can do it to cling to Kaga’s hair and gasp for air and quake through the jolts of sensation rushing through him with each of the other’s movements.

By the time Kaga lets him go to brace a hand hard against the bed and resume a frantic-fast pace of his thrusts Tsutsui’s breathless, hazy, his thoughts scattered and his heart pounding and his whole body still quivering with aftershocks. Kaga’s moving faster, harder, his rhythm fracturing apart as he gasps incoherent pleas into Tsutsui’s shoulder; and then he tenses, and groans, and goes still as he spills into the other’s body. Kaga’s skin is hot against Tsutsui’s, his whole body trembling with effort and relief and heat at once, and Tsutsui lets his hold in Kaga’s hair go gentle and lets his fingers stroke down against the sweat-damp of hair against the other’s neck in the idle affection that is the most his hazy coordination can provide. Kaga lets the brace of his hand go, lets himself fall heavy against Tsutsui under him like he can’t stand to support the weight of his own body anymore; it’s hard to breathe under the pressure but Tsutsui doesn’t try to push Kaga off any more than he attempts to untangle his legs from the open angle he’s made around Kaga’s hips. He lets the ache radiate through his body, lets it settle into him the same way the prints of Kaga’s mouth are settling into his skin, and when he shifts it’s only to turn his head to the side so he can brush his lips against Kaga’s hair.

If Kaga notices the weight of the kiss, he doesn’t say anything, and Tsutsui doesn’t try to find the breath to speak. They’ve both said far more already than he ever expected to hear.


	25. Apology

Kaga doesn’t sleep much that night.

He has a lot on his mind. Tsutsui slips away an hour after Kaga pulls him into the bedroom to shove him down against the sheets and print all the proof of his own internal surrender clear across the other’s skin; Kaga doesn’t turn to watch him go, doesn’t acknowledge that he is still awake at all. But he is awake, awake for the whole span of the shower running as Tsutsui cleans himself up and through the vague, unformed sounds of the other getting ready for bed, and finally into the silence that falls with the advent of true night, with the whole world either asleep or quiet enough that they can pass for such. Kaga thinks about taking a shower, thinks about getting up to watch television, or review games, or do anything except lie still and trapped by the contortions of his own thoughts; but thinking is all he can do, and that is all he does for the whole long hours of the night. There’s a lot to process, half-repressed memories and held-back admissions and the sound of his name at Tsutsui’s mouth, the taste of Tsutsui’s skin under his lips, the relief of capitulation to the awareness he’s been trying to avoid for years, for maybe the whole of his life. But there’s no one to see him now, no one to judge him for the few hours he has to himself tonight, and so Kaga lies still in bed and lets himself align _love_ and _Tsutsui_ in his mind, lets himself close his eyes and feel the knowledge of that -- the implications of that -- sink into his identity like rocks thrown into a clear pond.

He doesn’t know if he feels better by the morning. The guilt has eased, at least; it’s strange to stir from the idle doze he slipped into and not have his usual self-loathing waiting for him when he finally sits up in bed. There’s not happiness either, not really contentment; his mind is quiet, still, utterly blank as if this new admission even just to himself has cleared away everything he has built to defend himself over the past few years and left his thoughts a clear surface to be covered with something Kaga doesn’t yet know about. He takes a shower like that, with his eyes open and his thoughts ringing to quiet, dries his hair and brushes his teeth and returns to his bedroom for clean clothes and still there’s nothing, just stillness, like the quiet of the world after a violent storm has passed. Kaga gets dressed, wondering vaguely if he’ll feel like this all the time, now, if he’ll be able to live his life from the calm of this moment; it seems like it might be a relief, even if it strips away the pleasure of satisfaction or the sharp-edged adrenaline that comes with competition. It’s better than he’s been feeling, at least, and the relief of losing that weight is such that he feels almost dizzy with it, like he’s gone weightless and might just drift away from the support of the ground under his feet. He makes his way down the hallway slowly, setting each foot deliberately, and he makes a pot of coffee just as slowly, working through each step as carefully as if he’s never done them before. He stands at the counter while the coffee brews, watching the dark of the liquid slowly fill the pot for lack of anything more engaging to watch before pouring himself a cup and going to sit at the table with the curve of the ceramic cradled between both palms. He stares into the cup for minutes, until the coffee is cool enough to drink without a burn, and when he does swallow a mouthful it’s slowly, working through the motion methodically and feeling a little like the whole world might suddenly come undone if he acts too quickly. The coffee tastes good; it’s rich at the back of his tongue, bitter against his mouth but saturated with all the tells his body has learned to recognize as promising impending caffeine and the more satisfying for them. Kaga can feel that one mouthful purr heat out into the whole of his chest, as if the warmth of the liquid is spreading through his veins and under his skin to warm him from the inside out in a way he’s never noticed before. He wonders if it’s always been like this, if there’s something different in him to feel it so strongly, if maybe he just never noticed the change before; and then there’s a sound from the hallway, and Kaga looks up, and Tsutsui is standing there.

He looks normal. There’s nothing unusual about his appearance; his clothes are ordinary, his hair is tidy, his glasses are straight against the bridge of his nose. He must have just gotten out of the shower -- the dark of his hair is still shining with damp -- but that’s normal too, even if Kaga is usually the one to take the second shower of the morning. There’s nothing about the way he looks to account for the way Kaga’s chest suddenly tightens, or the way all the careful calm of his awareness tenses on a rush of adrenaline; he can’t explain why he suddenly feels like he can’t breathe any more than he can loosen the press of his fingers against the side of his coffee cup.

“Morning,” Tsutsui says, offering a careful smile along with the word before he looks aside and into the kitchen. “How’s the coffee?”

“It’s good,” Kaga says automatically, still staring at Tsutsui as the other moves into the kitchen without looking back at him. There’s a shadow against Tsutsui’s collar, a dark span of color over his skin, but Kaga barely spares it a glance; he’s too caught by the calm across Tsutsui’s expression and the easy familiarity in his movements as he goes to the cupboard to retrieve a cup and a box of tea. “Want some?”

Tsutsui glances back at him, his mouth curving on a smile. “No, I’ll stick with tea,” he says, gesturing vaguely with the box in his hand. “I appreciate the offer.”

Kaga shrugs in response and falls silent again. Tsutsui doesn’t look back at him; he doesn’t look self-conscious, looks as if nothing of note happened last night at all. It makes Kaga frown, frustration and discomfort forming themselves from the sudden tension that hit him at Tsutsui’s arrival, but Tsutsui is looking down at the cup in his hands and doesn’t see that either. He doesn’t turn back around until he has tea steeping in his cup and the ceramic caught between both hands, and then his expression goes soft and startled all at once as he sees the way Kaga is watching him.

“Are you alright?” he asks immediately, coming forward with greater speed than the situation requires and nearly spilling water over his hands braced around his cup. He makes a face at the shift and slows as he sets his mug down at the table, but as soon as the tea is safely landed he’s turning back to frown concern down at Kaga sitting across from him. “You look--” He breaks off, his frown deepening; when he reaches out his fingers almost touch Kaga’s hair before he visibly catches himself to pull his touch back from the verge of contact. “Did you get enough sleep?”

Kaga shakes his head, both in answer to Tsutsui’s question and to negate the importance of his answer to the subject at hand. “It’s not that,” he says, his voice growling over on itself to something like the irritation he’s been caught in for weeks, something that doesn’t fit quite right against the strange sharp tension that has gripped him now. “Last night--” and then his attention drops to Tsutsui’s neck, and his words die to silence entirely as he realizes what the odd shadow is.

It’s bruises. There’s a whole line of them, crescent imprints of teeth and darker red from tight-pressed lips trailing against Tsutsui’s collarbone and up the curve of his throat to just below his ear, as if they’re trying to span and mark all of the other’s skin with the purple and red of possession. They’re collected all on one side, lopsided proof of where Kaga’s mouth was last night, evidence of the desperate frustration that so gripped him as his self-denial crumbled and gave way to complete abandon. Kaga barely remembers leaving them at all; everything was too fast, hot and rushed and frantic until he remembers emotion more than action, remembers the aching need to mark, to claim, to _own_ more than he does the actual feel of Tsutsui’s skin against his mouth. The bruises run deep, he can see, the shape of his mouth printed so far into Tsutsui’s body that it will linger for days; and Kaga’s lifting a hand without thinking, his fingers stretching out to brush against the tracery of marks before he has thought through the weight of physical contact his fingertips carry. Tsutsui freezes under his touch, his whole body going as still as if Kaga’s touch has shocked him, and Kaga flinches with the first shiver of guilt.

“Sorry,” he says. “Does it hurt?”

“What…?” Tsutsui starts. When Kaga looks up Tsutsui is staring at him as if he’s never seen him before, as if he has entirely forgotten how language works. He blinks once, hard, like he’s trying to center himself, swallows deliberately before he continues. “No, it doesn’t hurt.”

“Jesus,” Kaga says, his attention dropping back to the pattern of bruising he left spreading out under his fingers. “I didn’t mean to leave such a mark.” He frowns, guilt feeding in on the strain in his chest and bleeding out to tense his fingers against Tsutsui’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

Tsutsui doesn’t answer. When Kaga looks back to his face the other is staring at him, his eyes wide and lips parted; he looks like he’s forgotten how to breathe, or like he’s not entirely sure this is reality.

“What?” Kaga asks, the question coming out closer to a demand than he entirely intended it to. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Tsutsui blinks. “You--” His forehead creases, his mouth works onto a flicker of a frown; he looks perplexed, lost in the structure of their conversation as he almost never appears to be. “You never talk about--”

He cuts himself off before he gets to the end of the sentence but Kaga doesn’t need to hear the conclusion. He knows as well as Tsutsui does, after all, knows that it’s his own silence that has kept them from mentioning anything about what they are to each other for the months this has been going on. But it was different, before, he wants to say, he was drunk and...and Tsutsui wasn’t, Tsutsui has been letting Kaga do whatever he likes for days and weeks and months without hiding behind the frail excuse of intoxication far too minimal to account for the passive disregard Kaga has been giving to their evenings. Kaga can feel guilt spill into him from the shock in Tsutsui’s eyes, can feel the retroactive burden of all those weeks he’s been leaving Tsutsui in silence in the confusion in the other’s face now that he’s acknowledging what he did the night before.

 _But it’s different_ , Kaga’s mind insists. _It was different. You told me you loved me._ But it’s not different, Tsutsui’s confusion says, it has never been anything different than what it was last night; and Kaga can feel the weight of that pressing against his chest, and aching in his throat, and burning to sudden, bright awareness behind his eyes until when he blinks his vision goes hazy with damp.

“Oh,” he says, and his voice comes out strange and strained on that unfamiliar emotion in his throat. “Tsutsui.” His hand falls from Tsutsui’s bruised neck, drops down like it’s being called by the earth; but his fingers catch at the soft of fabric, his hold closes around the fall of Tsutsui’s shirt, and he’s reaching out with his other hand too, fumbling for contact at Tsutsui’s waist so he can loop his arm around the other and pull him in while Kaga ducks his head and shuts his eyes hard against the threat of tears pressing at his lashes. His breathing is catching, his throat too tight to allow for speech; but Tsutsui is stepping closer in surrender to his pull, and there are fingers landing gentle in Kaga’s hair, and when Tsutsui’s hands tug Kaga tips forward to press his face hard against the other’s shirtfront and shudder through an inhale that only barely manages to avoid turning into a sob over the strain in his chest. Even restraining that does nothing for the damp spilling over Kaga’s tight-shut eyes to soak into the front of Tsutsui’s shirt, and Kaga’s fairly sure any deniability he might have once had is entirely gone; but then again, he’s done more than enough denying for the both of them over the last several weeks.

He might not be able to find the voice for a spoken apology, but the damp of tears is more honesty than he’s offered by daylight in years.


	26. Care

They don’t talk about it again for days.

Tsutsui isn’t surprised. It’s enough to leave him shocked already whenever he thinks about it, that Kaga found the words for a confession, for an _apology_ , that he offered both without any of the inebriation that has so characterized all his honesty in the past. By the time they rejoin over dinner Tsutsui is half-expecting a return to vicious irritation, just as a way for Kaga to recenter himself; but Kaga is quiet then too, abstracted and lost in his own thoughts as they share the table but no conversation. He returns to his room afterwards without initiating anything with Tsutsui, and Tsutsui doesn’t push the subject; there’s enough shadows behind Kaga’s eyes already without him adding to them, he thinks. Kaga’s out at a tournament most of the next day, and Tsutsui’s gone at work the whole of the one after that; Kaga’s asleep by the time he gets home, or at least behind the closed door of his bedroom with the light switched off, so Tsutsui goes to bed and drifts into dreams as much memory as fantasy, now.

Kaga’s home for dinner the next day. He arrives while Tsutsui is cooking in the kitchen, calling an offhand “I’m home” before going to his room; Tsutsui stays with the food, losing himself in the idle work of preparing a familiar meal while he thinks about Kaga and tries to fit himself into the spaces of what must be running through the other’s mind. He’s almost done cooking by the time Kaga reemerges and is in the process of serving the food out of the pan and onto plates when Kaga comes into the kitchen to take his and save Tsutsui a trip to carry it over.

“Thanks,” Tsutsui says, and follows Kaga back to the table with his own meal. Kaga still looks distracted as they sit down, his gaze unfocused like he’s seeing something completely different than what’s in front of him; it leaves Tsutsui free to watch him uninterrupted, to let his attention linger long against the line of the other’s jaw and the soft of his mouth. There’s some tension absent, some loss of strain that has always been there before; Tsutsui can only recognize it was there in its absence now, it’s been such an everpresent part of Kaga’s whole expression. There are the suggestion of shadows under the other’s eyes, some hint at insufficient or restless sleep caught into bruised-in exhaustion under his lashes; but he still looks calmer than he did before, even if he’s handed off stress for sleeplessness. Tsutsui keeps watching him, doesn’t realize he’s staring; it’s not until Kaga lifts his head to say “What’re you looking at?” with some trace of his usual irritable curiosity that Tsutsui blinks and recollects himself.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head free of his focus and looks back down at his plate. “How did your match today go?”

“It was alright.” Kaga’s voice carries all the vocal range of a shrug; when Tsutsui glances back up at him the other is looking down at his plate instead of across the table. “I won, at least.”

Tsutsui blinks. “Oh. _Oh_. Congratulations.”

Kaga shrugs properly this time. “It’s just the semifinals.”

“That’s worth congratulations,” Tsutsui tells him. “Do you think you can win the tournament?”

Kaga huffs not-quite-a-laugh down at his plate. “I’m not likely to win at all if I don’t think I can,” he says, and lifts his head to meet Tsutsui’s gaze. His mouth is catching the edge of a smile, his eyes brighter than Tsutsui’s seen them in days; he looks warm, amused the way he used to when they were in elementary school together, before shadows settled into the dark of his eyes and tension settled into the line of his shoulders. It makes Tsutsui’s heart ache, makes his breath catch, and Kaga’s lashes flicker, his smile going slack as his expression goes soft, as his gaze goes considering. Tsutsui doesn’t look away, doesn’t so much as shift his hand; he feels like he might startle Kaga out of something if he moves, might chase away whatever careful thought is behind the weight of the other’s eyes on him. Kaga’s gaze drifts away from Tsutsui’s, trailing out over the frames of the other’s glasses, the dark of his hair, the part of his lips; and Tsutsui can feel his heart beating harder, can feel the prickle of anticipation unfolding into his veins like he has some premonition about what is to come. He’s ready for Kaga to move, to take action in some direction and leave Tsutsui to catch up after; but when Kaga acts it’s to swallow deliberately, and to take a slow inhale, and to speak.

“Tsutsui.” His gaze comes back up to fix at Tsutsui’s eyes, dark with focus and absolute attention; Tsutsui can feel the weight of that gaze shudder down the whole length of his spine, as if Kaga’s focus is a lightning bolt grounding out against the top of his head to meld him to the earth. He can’t speak, can’t find breath or words to give even a token answer; but Kaga’s not waiting for one, he’s continuing on without pause. “I want to kiss you.” Tsutsui can feel his eyes go wider, can feel his lips part on silent shock; but Kaga is still talking, still finding words to fill the space between them instead of action. “Can I?”

Tsutsui can’t find breath for a response for a long moment. Kaga is watching him, his eyes dark and his mouth set on absolute sincerity; there’s no question of the honesty of his words, no doubt in Tsutsui’s mind that he means exactly what he says. It’s hearing the statement aloud that is shocking, having the sentiment put so completely into clarity for Tsutsui’s consideration; and the question, the inquiry when Kaga’s never asked permission before, never so much as hesitated over the question of whether Tsutsui was as willing as he was. It doesn’t change Tsutsui’s answer any more than leaving the confirmation unasked made a difference before; but it does knock him breathless for a moment, leaves him staring speechless shock across the table at Kaga for a span of seconds. Kaga doesn’t move, doesn’t reach out to pull Tsutsui in towards him or lean back against his chair in a huff of frustration; the only sign that he’s waiting at all is in the set of his jaw and the tension slowly building behind his gaze as he waits for Tsutsui’s response. The awareness of the moment rushes through Tsutsui like a surge of heat, as if his very blood itself is coming alive in his veins with the power Kaga’s question has granted him; and then he takes a breath, and lets it go, and gives the only answer he can give, the only answer he was ever going to give.

“Yes,” he says. “Yes, of course.”

Kaga’s expression gives way, his mouth coming open on a huff of relief that shocks Tsutsui all over again -- Kaga really wasn’t sure, he really thought Tsutsui might say no -- but he’s moving too, before Tsutsui can find voice for any but that most obvious of statements, leaning in over the table and reaching out for Tsutsui with one hand. His fingers catch Tsutsui’s hair, slide down over the strands to curl against the back of the other’s neck, and the motion is familiar but the gentleness is wholly new, Tsutsui doesn’t think Kaga has ever touched him as carefully as he is right now. Kaga’s thumb shifts against his skin, slipping in over the fading bruises that have long since given up any ache of hurt they first had but still cling to Tsutsui’s skin like a reminder of that night days before; and then he sighs an exhale, and pulls Tsutsui in towards the press of his mouth. Tsutsui lets himself be pulled, surrenders without protest to the urging of Kaga’s touch; and Kaga’s lips press against his, and Kaga’s fingers tense against the back of his neck, and when Tsutsui parts his lips to sigh it’s relief on his tongue and not resistance.

It feel good to be handled with care.


	27. Gentle

Kaga doesn’t know how to be gentle.

He wants to be. Wanting to is easy, after he’s spent the last few days letting years of guilt settle and dissipate into something a little bit resignation and mostly relief; the awful, vicious edge of frustrated need has eased, now, he can look at Tsutsui and feel the pressure of desire in his chest without feeling that he wants to slam his fist into a wall, without feeling the need to seize and break and shatter everything around him as if that will somehow undo the inescapable want in his own chest. There’s still a weight to it, still a measure of strain that he isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to shed in full; but it’s easier to go slow when he doesn’t feel so much like he’ll tear himself apart for wanting and wanting to _not_ want in equal parts. But he doesn’t know how to do this, doesn’t know how to be careful with the bruises from last time still fading to yellow and green against Tsutsui’s throat, and even laid out panting for air across the familiar span of his bed Tsutsui seems fragile, seems breakable in a way that makes Kaga’s hands shake to see. It’s hard to press his hands against the smooth span of unbruised skin, harder still to trust himself with the slick of the lube poured over fingers that won’t stop trembling for the thought of what he’s going to do, and even when Tsutsui is gasping to heat over the bed as Kaga works a pair of fingers into him Kaga can’t quite trust the flush high over the other’s cheeks that speaks to his appreciation, can’t trust even the line of Tsutsui’s cock curving hard towards his stomach as proof of his pleasure in the moment.

“Are you okay?” he asks, keeps asking, repeating himself over and over until it feels helpless, uncontrolled and desperate on his tongue, but he can’t close his mouth on the sound, can’t stop asking for reassurance beyond the obvious heat straining against Tsutsui’s spine and running under the other’s skin.

“Oh,” Tsutsui says, and “yes,” without any trace of frustration at this repetition of his answer for the uncounted time. Kaga’s fingers slide deeper, thrusting through another inch of friction, and Tsutsui arches on the sheets, his head tipping back and throat opening up on a groan that Kaga can feel shudder through him like heat made liquid and electric in his veins. “ _Yes_.”

“Shit,” Kaga says, and keeps moving, even as his shoulders tense and his throat tightens with heat he can’t undo enough to catch his breath. “Tsutsui, you.” His fingers slide deeper, Tsutsui curves under him, and Kaga’s thoughts white out into a moment of breathless appreciation, his whole body prickling with flickering adrenaline. “ _God_ , I want you so much.”

“Tetsuo,” Tsutsui says, his voice melting to heat, his hands coming up to reach for Kaga’s hair. His eyes are hazy behind his glasses, his focus blurred with heat, but his lips are parted and his fingers in Kaga’s hair are careful, his touch unthinkingly gentle in the way Kaga is fighting to be. “I love you.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Kaga grates, and he’s drawing his fingers back, only remembering halfway through the too-fast motion to go slow, to be careful, to ease out as gently as he pressed in. Tsutsui’s thighs flex, his body tensing at the friction, but there’s only heat in his expression, only the low ache of pleasure in his voice as he moans an exhale. Kaga ducks his head to watch his hands as he fumbles with the front of his jeans; he struggles with the zipper, fingers going as clumsy over the necessary motion as if this is his first time all over again, but Tsutsui’s hands are stroking through his hair and sliding against the back of his neck, and Kaga can feel the weight of the other’s touch like Tsutsui’s skin is sunlight pressing warm and close against his own. He drags his zipper down, struggles out of his jeans and boxers with more haste than elegance, and as he pushes his pants over the edge of the bed to be forgotten Tsutsui’s fingers slide over his shoulders and down his chest to catch at the bottom edge of his shirt and urge it up and off his skin. Kaga lifts his hands to let Tsutsui strip his shirt up over his head, and then that’s falling over the edge of the bed too, leaving more bare skin for Tsutsui’s touch and gaze than Kaga has ever offered to him before. He feels a prickle of self-consciousness, a moment of strange embarrassment he’s never felt before as Tsutsui’s gaze slides down his chest like he’s tracing the lines of Kaga’s body with his eyes. Tsutsui looks breathless, like he’s shocked out of himself just by this display, and Kaga has to speak, has to offer voice to something just to distract himself from the starstruck appreciation clear in the grey-green of Tsutsui’s eyes.

“You too,” he says, and reaches out to catch slippery fingers under the hem of the shirt Tsutsui didn’t pause to take off before Kaga was reaching for his hip to brace him for the thrust of the other’s fingers.

Tsutsui blinks, his attention skipping back up to Kaga’s face as his eyes go wide. “What?” he says, looking as confused as he sounds.

“Let me see you,” Kaga says, fitting his other hand under the other side of the shirt. “It’s only fair.”

It’s not quite a question. There’s no upswing at the end of the sentence, nothing to indicate how hesitant Kaga feels as he slides his hands up; but he’s watching Tsutsui’s face, reaching for permission even if it goes unstated, his motion coming far slower than it normally would on his uncertainty. Tsutsui’s mouth comes open, his cheeks darken with a moment of self-consciousness; but then “Okay,” he says, surrender as clear in his throat as it is in the dip of his lashes as he lowers his gaze, and Kaga pushes harder, baring half Tsutsui’s chest before the other has a chance to lift his hands to let Kaga strip his shirt off. The collar catches at Tsutsui’s glasses and knocks them loose as the shirt comes free; but Tsutsui is reaching to recenter them, and Kaga is dropping the clothing over the edge of the bed, and then it’s just them, together, Kaga’s skin prickling with hyperawareness and Tsutsui’s eyes wide and bright behind his glasses.

“Oh,” Tsutsui says, “Tetsuo” and he’s reaching out, his fingers curling around the back of Kaga’s neck like he’s bracing himself as Kaga rocks up onto his knees, as he reaches to press his hand to steadying support alongside Tsutsui’s shoulder. Everything seems to carry more weight without the barrier of clothing to disguise his movements; it’s like he’s announcing all his actions before he takes them, like he’s asking Tsutsui for permission to continue with every motion. But Tsutsui is still gazing at him with that soft affection in his eyes, his focus still wandering over Kaga’s body as if he’s never seen him before, and when Kaga leans in closer Tsutsui lets his knees open wider, past the point of necessity and into active encouragement. Kaga looks down, past the tremor of breathing in Tsutsui’s chest and the flushed heat of his cock to the angle of his thighs, to the tension along Kaga’s own body as he presses nearer, and he can see them fitting together, can watch Tsutsui curve up to meet him as he tips himself down and in against the other’s body. He can hear Tsutsui’s breathing coming faster, can feel his heart beating hard in his chest in a way he never noticed, before, under the haze of intoxication he usually is moving under, and then he rocks his weight forward, and Tsutsui angles his hips up, and they’re sliding together in a long, slow motion that Kaga can feel drawing tighter and tighter around his chest with each inch of forward motion he gains. His heart is pounding, his breathing turning to gasps, and Tsutsui is sighing under him, shuddering through what sounds like relief as their bodies come together.

“Oh,” Kaga says, “Tsutsui” and Tsutsui’s beating him to it, his voice breaking on “ _Tetsuo_ ” drawn so long Kaga can hear it shuddering in the other’s throat. Tsutsui’s eyes are shut when Kaga looks back up to him, his lashes laid in a dark curve across his cheek, his head tipped back against the soft of the sheets; he looks calm, peaceful, relaxed in a way Kaga can’t remember seeing him before. But maybe he’s always looked like this, maybe it’s just that Kaga was never looking before, never _letting_ himself look before; he can’t remember, can’t be sure even in himself what it was like before when this feels so overwhelmingly new. He doesn’t look away from Tsutsui’s face, keeps watching as he draws back to take another slow thrust forward, and he can see the whole rhythm of his motion painted across Tsutsui’s features, can see the tension in the other’s forehead as Kaga draws back and the breathless give of relief as he rocks back forward. He had been afraid of hurting Tsutsui, of moving too fast or too hard without asking for confirmation; but he doesn’t have to ask, not if he can see the responsive heat in the other’s expression just by watching. It seems impossible, that it could be as easy as this; but Kaga moves again, and this time Tsutsui’s head tips back, and his lips part on a groan of heat, and Kaga can feel the urge for more unwind up the whole length of his spine, can feel the need to see more of that expression sweep over him to dominate even the ache of desire tensing through his legs and low in his stomach. He moves again, rocking through a slow thrust to see the way Tsutsui’s expression shifts, and he’s breathing faster without noticing, his reactions caught in an echo of those playing so clearly over Tsutsui’s features.

“God,” Kaga chokes off, “You’re so beautiful.” It’s a strange phrasing, words he never expected to be saying and never with such sincerity; but they _are_ sincere, so honest he doesn’t have a chance to hold them back for how immediately true they are. Tsutsui’s lashes flutter, his eyes coming open to fix on Kaga’s face, and Kaga can feel affection surging higher in his veins, can feel the ache of adoration humming through him without the distracting tension of guilt and frustration to drown it out. He can’t speak, can’t find words for the pressure in his chest and the attention he wants to pay to Tsutsui’s eyes, hair, shoulders, throat; he just stares, silent and breathless as instinct finds a rhythm for their bodies to move together.

Tsutsui is pliant beneath him. He submits so readily, gives himself over for Kaga before Kaga has even put voice to the request, and it’s no different now that Kaga is paying attention to it, just more intense, more overwhelming to notice every breathless shudder that runs through Tsutsui’s body in answer to the forward stroke of Kaga’s hips. Kaga feels vaguely like he should free a hand to close around Tsutsui’s length, to stroke up over him with some additional friction to urge him towards pleasure; but Tsutsui is arcing under him just as they are, his legs winding around Kaga’s hips to pull the other in closer like this is all he needs, like this is all he’s ever wanted. Kaga can feel the tremors of reaction run through Tsutsui with each thrust he takes, can feel the other tightening around him as surely as he can feel the tension of Tsutsui’s fingers pressing harder at the back of his neck to hold him steady. Kaga’s breathing harder, panting for air gone hot and humid between them, but Tsutsui is too, his lips are parted on the gasp of his breathing and Kaga wants to kiss him, _would_ kiss him if it wouldn’t require him to give up watching the flickers of heat tense and ease in Tsutsui’s face like ripples splashing across the surface of a lake. Every motion Kaga takes widens Tsutsui’s eyes, every forward drive catches in his breathing, and Kaga’s head is spinning and his arms are shaking but he’s not ready to come yet, he’s fighting back the edge of satisfaction to watch the strain build to a height behind the green-flecked grey of Tsutsui’s eyes.

“Tsutsui,” he says, but that’s wrong, it’s: “Kimihiro,” and Tsutsui whimpers with the sound of his name, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as his mouth comes open on the sound in his throat. “Do you want to come?”

“Oh,” Tsutsui says. “ _Oh_. Tetsuo.”

“Do you want to come?” Kaga repeats, feeling pressure building low in his stomach, feeling the weight of impending orgasm climbing his spine like a countdown to press him harder, faster, to urge him towards an inevitable conclusion. “Kimihiro, tell me, do you want to come like this?” Tsutsui is shivering under him, his gaze flickering in and out of focus as his attention fractures and he pulls it back in to meet Kaga’s words, but Kaga keeps talking anyway, his words falling faster as the rhythm of his motion speeds towards heat. “I want you to, I want to see you come, Kimihiro, can you come for me?”

“Tetsuo,” Tsutsui gasps. One hand slides higher into Kaga’s hair, his fingers clutching desperately against the strands; Tsutsui has his chin dipped down, is looking up over the top edge of his glasses at Kaga over him with a desperate, focused intensity. “I. I’m going.”

“Are you going to?” Kaga offers, tensing his shoulders to push back the edge of heat spiking up his spine, to fight back the strain in his chest for another moment, another breath, another desperate demand for Tsutsui’s hearing. “You are, aren’t you, let me watch you.” Tsutsui’s panting for air now, he’s arching off the bed and clinging to Kaga’s shoulders and Kaga’s whole body is straining with want, with the desperate attempt to hold back for himself what he’s trying to win from Tsutsui. “Kimihiro, come on, come _on_ , please, let me--” and Tsutsui’s eyes go wide, his mouth falls open, and Kaga can see pleasure break across his face in a shudder of slack relief a moment before his body draws tight around Kaga’s. His legs tense, his fingers spasm, and Kaga’s making a sharp sound of surrender as the heat he has been fighting back gives way to the washing relief of inevitability. Tsutsui is moaning under him, trembling in tiny convulsive waves with each pulse of heat that spills across his stomach, and then Kaga’s orgasm breaks over him and sweeps away all the focus he has been devoting to his sight. It’s overwhelming, all-encompassing, like it’s only become the more intense for him holding it back, and for the first few moments Kaga doesn’t know what he’s doing or saying for the shudders of pleasure that are sweeping him into blind, helpless appreciation.

He comes back into himself slowly, like he’s regaining awareness in pieces rather than the whole at once. His eyes are still open, he realizes when he blinks; his vision is blurry from close-up focus, his eyes tracking dark it takes him a moment to identify as Tsutsui’s hair. He still has his hand caught under him, the bracing support of his arm has given way the awkward press of an elbow against his chest, and Tsutsui’s fingers are still in his hair; he can feel them trembling in irregular frissons of movement with each breath the other takes. His skin is hot, flushed to warm damp everywhere he and Tsutsui touch, and between them there’s the sticky spill of Tsutsui’s orgasm catching against Kaga’s stomach where he’s lying against the other.

“Sorry,” Kaga manages, the words muffled by the press of his face to the sheets, and pushes against the mattress to tip himself sideways so he can roll onto the bed instead of crushing Tsutsui down against the sheets. “You okay?”

“Oh,” Tsutsui breathes. When Kaga turns his head to look at him the other is gazing at the ceiling, his lips parted on the rush of his breathing and his eyes hazy with the distraction of lingering heat. “Yes.”

Kaga can feel his mouth tug at the corner, can feel his expression giving way to a smile before he realizes it’s going to. He lifts his hand from the sheets and reaches out for Tsutsui instead; Tsutsui blinks as Kaga’s fingers land in his hair, his head turning towards the other as Kaga pushes the weight of the strands back from the other’s face. His cheeks are still flushed to pink, his mouth soft and damp with warmth; he looks hazy, warm and languid with satisfaction, and Kaga can feel that pressure against his chest again, like a weight bearing down against him from the soft color of Tsutsui’s eyes on him.

“God,” he says, and leans in fast, lifting his head and bridging the gap to press his mouth to Tsutsui’s for a quick, impulsive breath of friction. His throat is tight again, like his body is considering the possibility of tears, and he’s not sure he trusts himself to manage more than a few words in calm. “You’re--”

 _Amazing_ , his mind offers. _Beautiful. Incredible_.

“Perfect,” he says.

It turns out he can’t even make it through that one word before his voice cracks and breaks on emotion, but it doesn’t make much of a difference; Tsutsui’s face lights up into a smile just the same.


	28. Shadows

The apartment is quiet when Tsutsui gets home.

It’s early, still, or at least early compared to most of the other days of the week; his Go student is down with a fever, and so Tsutsui himself gets the night off to do with what he will. He’s been thinking about it on the way home, wondering if Kaga will be around or if he has another match this evening, and when he comes in the front door everything is so still he’s sure he has the house to himself. The last glow of sunlight is fading against the horizon, leaving the apartment darkening with the shadows of night; Tsutsui takes his shoes off in the entryway without bothering with a light, only reaching to turn on the illumination after he’s shed his shoes and set his bag down. He’s thinking about dinner, turning over the possibilities for the evening meal in his head and wondering if he shouldn’t go shopping before Kaga gets home; and then he lifts his head, and sees into the kitchen, and sees that Kaga _is_ home after all.

“Tetsuo,” Tsutsui gasps, startled into a breathless response as his whole body tenses with the reflexive shock of seeing someone when he thought he was alone. Kaga’s sitting at the kitchen table, his hands flat on the surface in front of him and his head tipped down so his hair falls in front of his face; it’s getting long, Tsutsui notes distantly, he’s going to need another haircut soon. He didn’t look up at the light, and doesn’t look up at Tsutsui’s exclamation; Tsutsui leaves his bag in the entryway, all thoughts of dinner entirely forgotten as he comes down the hall towards the other. “I didn’t realize you were home.”

“Yeah,” Kaga says to the tabletop. He still hasn’t lifted his head but he shifts his hands as Tsutsui comes closer, turning his palms in towards each other and clasping his fingers into a careful hold. There’s something a little strange about his voice, a tension in the back of his throat that prickles concern across Tsutsui’s shoulders to join the flicker of worry that started as soon as he realized Kaga was sitting silent at the table. “I got back an hour ago.”

“Oh,” Tsutsui says, not sure what to offer to whatever is keeping Kaga’s head ducked down and pressing his fingers so painfully tight against each other. “I’m sorry I didn’t text. If I had known you were waiting I would have let you know I was heading back early.”

Kaga shakes his head in a jerky negation. “It’s fine.”

“Are you okay?” Tsutsui asks, hesitating in the doorway of the kitchen. “It’s dark, does your head hurt?”

“What?” Kaga lifts his head for a moment to glance at the room, at the glow from the hallway and the dark surrounding him. Tsutsui still can’t get a good look at his face. “Oh. I didn’t notice.”

Tsutsui frowns and steps forward into the room towards Kaga hunched over the table. “What’s wrong?” he asks, as gently as he can manage. He reaches out to touch Kaga’s shoulder, as much to test the motion as for the comfort; Kaga tenses under the weight, his shoulders drawing in hard towards each other, but he doesn’t jerk away, so Tsutsui lets his hand linger where it is. “Did you lose a match?”

Kaga jerks his head again. “No,” he says,  and there _is_ something rough under his voice, some strange tension Tsutsui almost never hears, now. “It’s not a--” He cuts himself off, closing his mouth to silence, but it’s not fast enough to cover the way his voice cracks in the back of his throat over some unnamed emotion. Tsutsui’s fingers tighten at Kaga’s shoulder, the impulse to offer comfort too strong for him to resist, and in front of him Kaga tips farther forward, curling in over the press of his fingers against themselves as if he’s trying to protect something fragile with the armor of his own body. There’s a pause, a moment of quiet unbroken by anything except the effort of Kaga’s breathing; and then, like a bell tolling, “I came out to my dad today,” all at once, fast enough that it doesn’t have time to break to pieces in his throat.

Tsutsui’s breath catches. He would ask how it went, would ask how Kaga’s father reacted; but the answer is in the hunch of Kaga’s shoulders, and under the rasp of emotion on his breathing, and in the darkness the other let fall around him rather than bothering to get up to turn on the light. Tsutsui’s hand tightens involuntary, his fingers pressing Kaga’s shirt in against his skin like he can push away the words his father must have offered, like he can undo the rejection written so clearly into the white knuckles of Kaga’s fingers clinging to themselves as if he can still the trembling in his body through sheer force of will.

“Oh, Tetsuo,” he says, and his voice is caving in too, giving way to the pressure of sympathy in his chest so sharp it’s hard to find the gap between it and more immediate personal misery. “I’m so sorry.”

Kaga takes a ragged breath. His shoulders tense further, climbing under his shirt as if to form mountains to protect the pale line of his neck against the collar of his shirt; and then they sag again, the strength draining out of them all at once as his grip on his hands falls slack. His shoulders shift, his body pivots, and Kaga is turning in towards Tsutsui fast, before the other has a chance to react, his freed hands coming out to catch and clutch around Tsutsui’s waist. His hold is too tight, his fingers dig in painfully against Tsutsui’s spine; but he’s choking on his inhale, his breathing catching in the back of his throat as he presses his face against the other’s shirt to muffle the sound in his throat. Tsutsui’s eyes burn, his chest aches; but he doesn’t say anything, just settles his fingers into Kaga’s hair and ducks his head in over the other while the sound of Kaga’s inhales turns into the outline of sobs against the quiet of the room.

Tsutsui’s shoulders are no better protection from this than Kaga’s were, but at least Kaga doesn’t need to face this alone.


	29. Strong

Tsutsui’s room is cleaner than Kaga’s is.

Kaga knew it had to be. He’s seen it once or twice before while pushing his way in to make some demand of Tsutsui bent over homework at the desk in the corner of the room. His own is a mess of tangled bedsheets and clothes clean and unwashed alike in disordered heaps on most of the flat surfaces; Kaga knows Tsutsui keeps the rest of the apartment tidier than Kaga’s room, and it’s no surprise to find the other’s bedroom as much cleaner again with the limited effect of Kaga’s presence on it. Usually Kaga finds the cleanliness of the rest of the house mildly oppressive, as if every neat surface is judging him for his inability to keep them that way for more than a handful of minutes; but just at the moment, the organized structure of Tsutsui’s room is a comfort precisely because of how far from his own life it feels.

Tsutsui brought him here almost an hour ago, when Kaga had stopped crying long enough to trust himself to lift his face from the other’s shirt without bursting into a new round of misery. Tsutsui’s shirt was soaked through, it must have been clinging to his skin with every motion he made, but he didn’t say anything about it, just pressed his fingers in against Kaga’s elbow to urge him to his feet and down the hallway towards the bedroom door. Kaga had thought for a vague, brief moment that Tsutsui was planning to offer a distraction in the form of the soft of his mouth or the heat of his body; but they went past Kaga’s bedroom, where most of their interludes have taken place, and straight on to the door that Kaga has taken to viewing as something of a refuge for whatever parts of Tsutsui’s life the other doesn’t want to share. Kaga hesitates at the door, uncertain he dares to ask for permission to enter; but Tsutsui doesn’t even wait for a request, just pushes the door open and leads Kaga through as easily as if this is regular, as if he brings Kaga in to rumple the clean lines of his neatly-made bed on a nightly basis. Kaga feels out-of-place, like a hurricane sweeping into the clean lines of a well-run city; but Tsutsui just keeps his hold on Kaga’s elbow, and pulls him in towards the soft of the bed, and when Tsutsui drops to sit at the edge of the mattress and reaches out to pull Kaga down with him Kaga lacks both the reason and willpower to offer any kind of resistance. So he goes instead, capitulating to Tsutsui’s urging with more awkwardness than grace, and Tsutsui catches his arms around Kaga and pulls the other in against his shirt as he tips them both to lie over the give of the bed.

It’s quiet in the room. Kaga’s chest still feels pressurized, as if he’s captured a lead weight between the gaps in his ribs to pull him down towards the earth, and his breathing is still catching around the echo of tears on alternate inhales; but he feels drained, tired all the way down to the core of his bones, until even the memory of the words his father spit in his face -- the things his father called Tsutsui -- don’t tighten his throat with anger or burn misery behind his eyes. There’s just a dull acceptance, resignation heavy through all his limbs for this conclusion that he has known was inevitable since he was in middle school and realized how much harder his heart beat for Tsutsui’s smile than for any of the girls he’s ever known. He tried to fight it, pushed the realization away as long as he could; but he can’t avoid it anymore, and he doesn’t want to try any more, and if that leaves his father absent a son he is willing to acknowledge there’s nothing Kaga can do to change that, except to go back to the lonely life he can’t face now that he knows what he could have instead. It’s a selfish thought, he thinks; but it tenses across his shoulders, and tightens his arms around Tsutsui’s waist, and he thinks he doesn’t mind being selfish for this.

Neither of them move for a long stretch of time. Kaga can feel his breathing easing, can feel his inhales backing down from the edge of emotion he has been hovering on, and Tsutsui gives him uninterrupted silence to fit himself back into the appearance of composure if not the actuality of it. Long after Kaga’s caught his breath and smoothed away the knot of tension from his throat Tsutsui maintains his hold on him, his arms pressing warm around Kaga’s body to hold him steady with a grip that somehow manages to feel as unbreakable as it is gentle; it makes Kaga’s thoughts wander down routes of affection so long-avoided they still feel new even after years of existence, even after months of recent use. He stares himself into up-close focus at Tsutsui’s shirt, his gaze catching and following the pattern of the threads layering themselves into fabric as if he’s trying to trace each one individually; he’s been lost to that distraction for some minutes when Tsutsui takes a breath and gives voice to fill the silence without any more warning than the sound of his inhale.

“I have next weekend free from work,” he says, speaking softly enough that even the addition of words doesn’t seem to ruffle the peace of the moment, doesn’t jolt Kaga back to the unpleasant realities of his life that have been so weighing on him since he left his father’s house with furious speed. Tsutsui’s fingers shift and slide down Kaga’s spine to press the soft of the other’s shirt close against his skin. “Do you have a shogi match that day?”

Kaga shakes his head against Tsutsui’s shirt. “No,” he says, his voice far rougher and louder than Tsutsui’s is. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Good,” Tsutsui says, and takes another breath, deliberately enough that Kaga can feel some kind of revelation impending in the quiet. “I want to take you to meet my parents.”

Kaga frowns into confusion. “What? I’ve met your parents before, they know who I am.”

“I know,” Tsutsui says. “I want to introduce you as my boyfriend.”

The room goes very still. Kaga can feel his breath stalled in his chest, can feel his heart pounding hard against his ribcage like it’s trying to find a new, faster rhythm; he’s staring at Tsutsui’s shirt, his focus still trapped by the tiny fibers of cloth in front of his eyes, but he’s not really thinking about them anymore, isn’t thinking about anything except the echo of Tsutsui’s voice in his ears. Tsutsui shifts, very slightly, and tightens his arm around Kaga’s waist; but he doesn’t say anything else, to apologize or expand, just leaves his words uncommented in the quiet between them.

Kaga could say a lot of things. _Are you sure_ , is the obvious one, weighted with the too-close knowledge of his own father’s violent reaction; _your boyfriend?_ is a close second, trembling into warmth in the back of his thoughts until he can feel that one word sliding into his veins and unfolding like sunshine against the miserable chill that has so suffused him since he turned his back on his father’s rejection to make his way back to the only home he has left, now. But Tsutsui stays quiet, and keeps holding onto Kaga even as the expectation of a response hanging in the air dissipates and smooths into calm once again, and finally Kaga takes a breath and opens his mouth to say “Okay,” the concession delayed so long that the pause has loaded it with all the infinite things he might say and isn’t giving voice to.

Tsutsui doesn’t speak aloud for answer. He just tightens his arms around Kaga, his hold tensing with a strength Kaga didn’t know he had to press the other close against his chest for a span of long heartbeats. Kaga takes a breath, and shuts his eyes, and lets the warmth of Tsutsui’s hold on him spread out to grant his body some fraction of the comfort that he has been so without today.

It’s a strange kind of relief, to realize that Tsutsui has always been the strong one.


	30. Victory

“Oh god,” Tsutsui says, hearing his voice break to pieces in the back of his throat as he considers the tanned glow of Kaga’s skin laid out in front of him, the open angle of the other’s legs and the shift of breathing against the span of his chest. “Tetsuo, I’m not sure I can do this.”

“You can,” Kaga growls, his voice echoing oddly off the inside of his arm where he has it pressed over his face as if to block the overhead light from too-sensitive eyes. The barrier is almost enough to disguise the tension on his voice; Tsutsui isn’t sure he’d notice it at all if he couldn’t see how tightly Kaga’s fingers are curled into the shape of a fist or how tense the inside line of the other’s thighs are in front of him. “I used to do it drunk, it’s not that hard.”

“I know,” Tsutsui says, but he’s still not reaching out with the fingers he’s coated in a slick shine of liquid; he’s bracing against Kaga’s knee instead, breathing deep in a desperate attempt to ease the frantic pounding of his heart in his chest. “What if I hurt you?”

“Jesus,” Kaga says, and he’s dropping his arm, letting it slide up to fall to the sheets over his head as he lifts his chin to level a scowl at Tsutsui. “I’ll _tell_ you. Don’t you think I can take it?”

“It’s not that,” Tsutsui insists. “I just. Are you sure you want this?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Kaga growls, sounding so rough Tsutsui would doubt his sincerity if not for the color saturating the other’s cheeks with proof of the heat in his veins. “I want you to _fuck_ me, Kimihiro. How many times do you want me to say it?”

“Oh my god,” Tsutsui whimpers. “Tetsuo.”

“You would think you would have learned something from all your first-hand experience,” Kaga snaps. “Do you need me to walk you through this?”

Tsutsui shakes his head, the reaction more reflexive than certain. “No,” he says, and that sounds uncertain too, but it’s not like he doesn’t know the first step, at least, even if the weight of what follows is enough to skip his heart over a beat in his chest. He looks away from the flush on Kaga’s cheeks and the dark edge of panic and excitement tangled inextricably close in the other’s gaze, and down instead, past the flush of the other’s half-hard cock and to the inside line of his thighs, where the tension that is lacing all through his body is thrumming tight just under the skin. Tsutsui tightens his fingers at Kaga’s knee, and takes a breath; and reaches out, finally, to touch slick fingers against hot skin.

Kaga jerks at the contact. “ _Fuck_ ,” he blurts, even though Tsutsui has barely touched him, even though he’s not pushing at all. Tsutsui lifts his head at once, opening his mouth for the offering of an apology; but Kaga’s letting his head fall back to the bed, and replacing his arm over his eyes, and all Tsutsui can see of him is the part of his lips on the rush of his breathing. “Finally.”

Tsutsui’s heart is pounding, he can feel it rushing as fast as if he’s been sprinting, as if he’s already done far more than touch slick fingers against Kaga’s skin. “I’m going to--” he starts, and “ _Do_ it,” Kaga snaps back, before Tsutsui has yet mustered a grasp on the words on his tongue. Tsutsui stares at the set of Kaga’s jaw and the tremor of adrenaline running against his mouth; and he obeys, pushing in against Kaga with one finger regardless of the way his whole arm is shaking with nerves. There’s a moment of resistance, a heartbeat for Tsutsui’s stomach to drop and his breathing to catch on sudden panic; and then Kaga gives way to him, and Tsutsui’s sliding inside the other, and Kaga’s hissing and tensing at the same time Tsutsui gasps “ _Oh_ ” in the first rush of startled heat that shudders up his arm.

“Fuck,” Kaga grates out past gritted teeth. “That’s.”

Tsutsui struggles through a breath. “Am I hurting you?” he manages, frozen still by panic and too afraid to move either forward or away. “Do you want me to--”

“No,” Kaga snaps. “It doesn’t hurt, it just.” He shifts one knee, his whole leg flexing as he tips his foot wider on the bed by an inch. “Feels weird.”

Tsutsui doesn’t mean to laugh. It’s the adrenaline, mostly, that seizes control of his throat and spills the sudden burst of sound from his lips. Kaga lifts his head by an inch, shadow retreating from his face so Tsutsui can see the crease of confusion at his forehead, and Tsutsui gasps an inhale and lets it out and feels his whole self settling more comfortably into his body.

“It does,” he says, and shifts his wrist to a better angle. “It keeps feeling weird for a while. It’ll be better if you relax.”

“Sure,” Kaga says. “Just relax while you have your finger in my ass, it’ll be fine.”

Tsutsui clears his throat. “I managed it,” he says, and continues while Kaga’s expression is still falling open into shocked surprise: “Just take a deep breath. I’ll go slow.”

“You had better,” Kaga says, but the words lack any force, and when he lets himself fall back to the bed the movement comes with a shift of his knees to give Tsutsui a few inches of additional space. He’s still tense, his body still thrumming with strain Tsutsui can feel working against him; but then Kaga huffs an exhale, hard, like he’s trying to force himself into calm, and some measure of the tension does ease after all.

“Like that,” Tsutsui says, as gently as he can, and eases in farther by a careful half-inch. He’s going as slow as he can, pausing every time Kaga starts to tense against him; but there’s still shudders of tension running through the other, apparently regardless of what Tsutsui does or doesn’t do.

“God,” Kaga says against the cover of his arm. “This feels so weird. I thought it was supposed to feel good.”

“It does,” Tsutsui says. “Eventually. I’ll show you.” He doesn’t realize how confident his words sound until Kaga snorts amusement against his arm, his mouth dragging up into a lopsided grin.

“You will, huh?” Kaga’s legs shift again and he lets one foot slide off the bed completely so his knee can hang over the edge. He’s easing to Tsutsui’s touch; the motion of the other’s hand is smoother with every stroke, the depth he’s aiming for easier to gain with every action of his wrist. “You sound like a real pro. You want to admit to having a boyfriend before me too or something?”

Tsutsui can feel his cheeks heat into a flush. “No,” he says. “I only dated the one girl in high school.”

“Whatever,” Kaga says, letting his arm slide off his face again and draping it across his stomach instead as he tips his head to grin at Tsutsui kneeling between his legs. “You still have more experience than I did that first time. I had no idea what I was doing.”

Tsutsui coughs a laugh. “Neither did I. Neither _do_ I. I’m not hurting you?”

“Jesus,” Kaga groans. “ _No_. Stop worrying. It doesn’t feel great or anything but it’s fine, if you can take it I can take it.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Tsutsui tells him, but Kaga really is relaxing, now, Tsutsui can feel the other’s growing calm just in the easing of the tension pressing around his finger. He looks down, considering the potential of moving on to a second, unsure how much time he should take when his own memories are so clouded with heat and anticipation; and he sees his hand pressing close against Kaga’s body, sees the shine of light off slippery skin as he pushes in through a rhythmic thrust, and his breathing scatters, all his attention fracturing away as he watches his touch slide into Kaga on a smooth forward stroke. He draws his hand back, slides in again, and he can feel Kaga tense, this time, can watch the shiver of friction run itself down the flex of Kaga’s thighs before it presses hard against his touch.

“Are you just going to stare?” Kaga’s voice cuts in, overloud and harsh with what Tsutsui has come to learn is self-consciousness. When he looks back up Kaga’s watching him, his mouth drawing down into a frown and his cheeks scarlet with self-consciousness; Tsutsui can see the motion in his throat as he works himself through a swallow before he speaks again. “Aren’t you supposed to be using another finger or something?”

“Oh,” Tsutsui says. “Yes. Sorry.” He looks down again, from necessity this time instead of distraction, drawing his hand back before he can get lost in watching the rhythm of his touch working into Kaga’s body. He presses finger another alongside the first, feeling the way the slick of the lubrication catches his skin against itself, and then he’s reaching out again, fast, before the adrenaline whipping through his veins can gain enough traction to freeze him to uncertainty again. Kaga is hot to the touch, his skin slick from Tsutsui’s previous touch and softer than Tsutsui had noticed at first; but he gives far more easily, this time, barely offering a breath of resistance before he huffs an exhale and Tsutsui’s fingers slide into him. Tsutsui’s heart is pounding, his body flushing hotter with the rising thought of what is to come; and then Kaga hisses, his body tensing for a moment, and Tsutsui’s attention startles up and back to the other’s face.

“Sorry,” he says immediately, stilling his motion where it is. “Too fast?”

“Ah,” Kaga manages, his forehead creasing and mouth shifting like he’s not quite sure what he’s trying to say. “A little. Maybe. That felt weird.”

Tsutsui hesitates. “Bad weird, or…”

“I don’t know.” Kaga makes a face. “Not bad.” His mouth twists; he lifts his hand to push roughly through his hair. His wrist cuts in front of his face to block Tsutsui’s view. “Try moving again. _Slowly_.”

Tsutsui doesn’t put voice to the protest that he can’t go much more slowly without ceasing movement at all; he just obeys, drawing his fingers back by a careful span and easing them forward again. Kaga keeps his arm angled in front of his face, the shadow of his wrist blocking his eyes and most of his mouth, but Tsutsui doesn’t need to see his face to feel the way Kaga jerks as Tsutsui’s fingers press inside him or to hear the rough edge of a groan that breaks free of the other’s throat.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Kaga gasps, and Tsutsui is moving without waiting to be told, sliding his fingers through another careful thrust into the other. His angle is off, the pressure enough to draw a hiss but not a moan from Kaga’s throat, but his second attempt is better, precise enough that Kaga’s back arches off the bed and his foot slips wide across the sheets. “ _Fuck_.”

“Tell me if I’m hurting you,” Tsutsui says, his breathing turning to heat even as he manages the words, and he starts to move into a rhythm, working his fingers farther into Kaga with as steady a stroke as he can manage. His heart is pounding with adrenaline, his shoulders tense on fear of pushing too hard or moving too fast, but Kaga is hot to the touch, Tsutsui can feel the soft give of the other’s body radiating up his arm, and he’s going harder with just the press of Tsutsui’s fingers, his cock stirring to flush darker against his stomach as his fingers work over the sheets and his mouth comes open on heat.

“Fuck,” Kaga says again, sharp and cut-off, and then he loosens his hold on the sheets to reach for himself instead, to wrap his fingers hard around his length and pull against the resistance of his cock. Tsutsui’s blood surges hotter in his veins at the action, his chest tightens to drag over a moan of helpless response to the other’s movement, and Kaga’s hand is still angled over his face but Tsutsui can see the part of the other’s lips, now, can see the tension starting to collect against the line of his throat as he settles his fingers in closer around himself and starts to move with easy, practiced strokes. “Shit, Kimihiro, that feels--”

“I know,” Tsutsui says, and offers back: “You feel amazing” because it’s true, even if the spill of words on his tongue flushes embarrassment all across his cheeks. Kaga’s hot around him, giving way to the push of Tsutsui’s fingers with no resistance beyond the natural tension of his body, and Tsutsui is still thinking about the shift of his hand but there’s heat low in his stomach, the prickle of desire sliding up his spine, and along with it the wholly new possibility of Kaga underneath him, of Kaga’s thighs pressed open around his hips and Kaga’s body slick and hot around him and Tsutsui can feel the heat rushing through him as if it’s a second heartbeat to take over the whole of his body with the force of trembling want.

“Enough,” Kaga says, but it’s not an order; it’s nearly a question, the last of the word is wobbling in his throat like he doesn’t trust the weight of it to his tongue. “That’s enough, right, I never take this long with you and you’re fine.”

“I’m fine,” Tsutsui repeats, not sure if he’s talking about the past or the present and not really sure it makes much of a difference to either of them. His hands still feel shaky, like they’re thrumming with sound at some low resonance he can’t make out, but when he draws his touch back the motion is smooth and he can’t see his fingers trembling at all. He looks down to his hand, to the slick of liquid on his skin, to the tremor of tension along Kaga’s thighs, to the flush of his own cock, and for a moment everything feels hyper-real all over again, like for the span of a heartbeat reality has become clearer and sharper than it ever is. Tsutsui takes a breath, feels the whole motion of it over his tongue and down his throat to press and swell against his ribcage; and then he reaches down, and closes slick fingers around himself, and draws up in a careful slip of motion.

“Shit,” Kaga says again, his voice softer than it usually is but still dragging rough in the back of his throat. “We’re actually going to do this, aren’t we.”

Tsutsui lifts his head. Kaga’s let his arm fall from his face again; he’s staring at the motion of Tsutsui’s hand over himself, his mouth caught into the edge of a frown at the corners, his forehead creasing on tension. He looks uncertain, looks like he’s hesitating, and Tsutsui wants him, wants to lean in to catch Kaga under the brace of his arms and wants to know what it feels like to press forward and into the heat of Kaga’s body under him; but his hand goes still, and his shoulders ease, and for a moment all the strain of his personal desire fades to insignificance against the hesitation so clear in Kaga’s face.

“We don’t have to,” Tsutsui tells him. Kaga’s head comes up, his focus jumping to Tsutsui’s face instead of his hand as his expression falls into slack surprise, and Tsutsui keeps talking and doesn’t start moving again. “We can stop here, and try again later, or--”

“What,” Kaga says, and it’s not a question, it’s a wall to cut off Tsutsui’s words. His forehead is creasing again, his shoulders tensing visibly; but it’s not uncertainty behind his eyes anymore, it’s the heat of flickering frustration settling in at his mouth. “You get this far and now you want to bail?”

“I don’t want to--”

“No,” Kaga says, and jerks his head in a rough shake. “No, I don’t want to stop. I told you what I wanted and I’ll tell you if that changes, got it?” He blinks, his focus flickering for a moment, and when he speaks again his voice is a little softer, a little less sure. “Unless _you_ don’t want to.”

“No,” Tsutsui says immediately, his voice a softer echo of Kaga’s own denial. “No, I. I want to.”

The strain clears from Kaga’s face, his frown eases out of the taut line it was making. “Good,” he says, and reaches out with a gesture that is as much a demand as a request. “Hurry up and prove it.”

Tsutsui huffs an exhale, the sound half laughter and half the beginnings of panic, but he moves, too, obedience to Kaga’s demand coming easily even now, even with the stress of this novel step weighing down against his shoulders. It’s just sex, he tells himself as he lets his hold go, as he reaches out to brace himself against the bed over Kaga’s shoulder and rocks his weight forward, it’s not like this is anything close to their first time; but Kaga is frowning himself into stress underneath Tsutsui, and his knees are angling wide around Tsutsui’s hips, and this is different, this is new, this is something wholly unlike what they’ve done before if only for the weight it carries printed so clear across Kaga’s face. Kaga is hooking his leg around Tsutsui’s knee, the weight of the force pulling Tsutsui in closer against him, and then they’re together, their bodies lining up in a way they’ve never tried before, and Tsutsui can feel the pressure of anticipation bearing down against the whole length of his spine.

“Okay,” he says needlessly, and shifts his arm to brace himself steady against the sheets, to hesitate for another moment on the precipice of _almost_ , when everything in him is trembling with anticipation. Kaga is silent under him, his mouth pressed shut and his eyes dark and his hands clinging to Tsutsui’s shoulders like he needs the support, and Tsutsui can’t look away from the other’s face, can’t offer any fragment of his attention for anything but the focus of tangled emotion behind Kaga’s gaze on him. “I’m going to move.” And he does, carefully, tipping his hips forward to press in against the warm flush of Kaga’s body. He can feel Kaga tense against him, his body clenching in involuntary resistance to the first urge of pressure; and then Kaga’s mouth shifts, and he huffs an exhale, and Tsutsui is sliding forward and into him.

It’s overwhelming. Tsutsui was braced for that, was expecting it; but it’s still more than he anticipated, to feel someone -- to feel _Kaga_ \-- giving way to the force of his body rocking forward. Kaga’s hot, and slick, and tight, and Tsutsui was expecting all of that, he knew it would be like this; but it’s not like he anticipated, it’s different, because Kaga’s hold is dragging at his neck and Kaga’s voice is groaning “ _Fuck_ ” against his ear and this is so much more than what Tsutsui was braced for that he can barely keep track of it. He’s still moving, still rocking forward to finish out the rhythm of that first stroke, but his head is coming down to Kaga’s shoulder, his mouth is coming open on Kaga’s name, and when his hips press in flush against Kaga’s he has to pause for a moment just for the sake of catching his breath before he trusts himself with moving again.

“Shit,” Kaga says again. His foot slips against Tsutsui’s leg, catches and digs into the beginning of a bruise before it slides down by an inch; Tsutsui can hear the edge of strain on Kaga’s breathing, can feel the rush of the motion in the shift of the other’s chest under him. “Kimihiro, move.”

“Yes,” Tsutsui says, “yes, okay” and he does, rocking back while his head is still spinning with heat and Kaga is still panting for air underneath him. It might be too much, maybe he should be going slower or more gently or insist that Kaga take more time to adjust; but Kaga told him to move, and Tsutsui’s whole body is trembling with sensation, and his thoughts are too scattered to allow him the presence of mind to resist his reflexive surrender to Kaga’s order. So he moves, drawing himself through a slow slide of friction that sparks heat all up the entire length of his spine, and under him Kaga takes a breath and resumes the stroke of his hand that went still for those first few heartbeats of time.

Tsutsui doesn’t know which of them sets the rhythm. It feels like it forms between them both, like Kaga’s hand slows to match him as the rocking motion of his hips speeds to meet Kaga’s; but then maybe it’s Kaga’s doing after all, because his leg is pressing hard against Tsutsui’s hip and his fingers are twisting to fist in Tsutsui’s hair to hold him steady and he’s panting, hissing commands past the edges of tight-clenched teeth to say “More,” and “Harder,” and “ _Kimihiro_ ,” that last coming out so raw and rough it sounds as much like a curse as affection. His whole body is tensing under Tsutsui’s, his back arching and his hold on himself speeding, and some distant part of Tsutsui is afraid of hurting him but the greater part is listening to the catch of Kaga’s breathing, and feeling the way he jolts with every forward thrust, and urging Tsutsui to greater speed with every motion he takes. Tsutsui’s head is spinning, his fingers twisting involuntarily on the sheets, and at his lips is Kaga’s name, “Tetsuo” repeated over and over in broken-off slurs of heat that he can’t hold back any more than he intends to give them voice. They’re reflexive, appreciation and affection and encouragement all together, and he’s gasping for air and going dizzy with the rapid pace of his movement and under him Kaga is groaning, is panting “Kimihiro, don’t stop, fuck, don’t stop” as Tsutsui’s breathing goes desperate and straining for oxygen he can’t seem to get. His legs are shaking, his whole body is going tense, and Kaga must be able to feel the strain of anticipation building in him because he’s demanding, now, commanding Tsutsui to “Not yet, keep going, damn it Kimihiro” as if the desperate strain on his voice is likely to do anything but push Tsutsui closer to the edge.

“Tetsuo,” Tsutsui gasps, pressing his face hard into Kaga’s shoulder like he can push off the edge of orgasm rising in him by force, as if there’s really anything he can do now to delay what he can feel surging higher in him with each passing second. “I can’t, I’m going to--” and he’s gone, he’s slipping over the edge, his whole body is shuddering into heat and he can’t hold back the unformed, stuttering thrusts he’s taking into Kaga as he comes. “ _Fuck_ ,” Kaga says again, his fingers tightening against Tsutsui’s neck like he’s trying to brace him still, but Tsutsui only hears the other’s voice distantly around the haze of heat slurring all his attention into distracting white. Tension is giving way to pleasure, relief is spilling to weight heavy in his limbs, and then Kaga growls “ _Keep going_ ” with a strange, desperate tone that steals Tsutsui’s breath just for the hearing. He moves again in immediate obedience, rocking his weight forward to slide through another thrust, and it’s too much, the heat against over-sensitive skin is enough to draw a whimper in his throat, but Kaga is arching under him and groaning low in his throat and Tsutsui keeps moving for another thrust, two, a desperate sequence of action while Kaga’s hand speeds over himself, while Tsutsui feels the other drawing tighter around him with every stroke he takes. Tsutsui’s heart is pounding, his whole body starting to tremble with protest at this too-much sensation; and then Kaga chokes on his inhale, his fingernails digging in against Tsutsui’s shoulder with a flare of sudden heat, and Tsutsui can feel the ripple of orgasm run through the other as Kaga clenches tight around him and spills between their bodies. Kaga’s groaning under him, his voice resonant and thrumming over the depth of the sound in his chest, and Tsutsui shuts his eyes and breathes in against Kaga’s skin and lets the whole of his attention melt away for a long, uninterrupted span of hazy heat. His arms ache, his legs are shaking, his whole body feels drained and heavy; and Kaga’s hand is sliding across his shoulder, Kaga’s arm is catching around his neck, and at his ear, with the edges of the words going rough on the heat in the other’s voice: “God,” trembling with relief and pleasure and the languid weight of fading adrenaline. “I love you so much, Kimihiro.”

Tsutsui turns his head at Kaga’s shoulder, shifting his weight so his glasses aren’t digging in against the bridge of his nose. His fingers unwind from the sheets, his hand comes up to catch into sweat-damp hair and smooth away the few tangles that have formed against the red of Kaga’s hair. Kaga’s breathing hard against Tsutsui’s ear, his body trembling with relief under the other’s, and he shifts to meet Tsutsui’s touch, turning his head to press against the weight of the other’s hand. It makes Tsutsui smile, fills the inside of his chest like he’s trying to contain all the sunlight in the world inside him at once, and when he open his mouth “I love you, Tetsuo” falls from his lips like it was just waiting to be set free.

If there was ever a competition between them, Tsutsui thinks they’ve both come out victors in the end.


End file.
